Service with a SmileI should write something about his newfound sobriety. A song with a title like "Daddy don't drink no more" , some sort of pseudo-alt-country thing. But I'm really just trying to put it out of my mind all together.
Serving up the coffee with a smile means I'm happy, right? Everything's good in this boy's world, and it's a hell of a good night.
I'm already emotionally drained as I'm going to get- I don't have any more energy to give to the whole dad issue right now.
Coffee serving and smiles- that's the order of business for tonight.
Approval
I did give my father a call to tell him that Never Cry Wolf would be performing this week. Long pause, then he said he he'd try to make it. Well, hell. he'll either be here-- or he won't. No stressing about it. I get stressed enough about going up and performing without thinking of that. We haven't decided on a setlist yet. I've been really putting a lot of work into revision and perfecting lately- so there's no new material. Won't matter to my father though, because he's never heard any of it. He doesn't approve of my music.
My dad didn't come to see our show. I tried to tell myself I didn't mind that much- after all, music wasn't his thing. Still, I couldn't help but be disappointed. He called me up and apologized- it's nearing tax time, and he's got a lot of accounting to do, so he had to work on Saturday and needed to go grocery shopping Sunday. I mean, that's perfectly understandable, right? It's not like he fell off the wagon and went out binging or anything... it's good reasons. Maybe I didn't really want him there anyhow. I don't need his approval.
Classes are starting up again. It's nice to get back to the comfortable routine of things. I went to my father's house for Easter weekend. Easter dinner was surprising- my father made ham. I didn't know the old man could cook. All the years I was growing up I don't really remember him making anything other than hamburgers on the grill. Being sober seems to be good for his domestic skills or something. Shit was even glazed and everything, if you can believe it. The kind with pineapples and cherries. We didn't dye eggs or anything, but it was good.
Over the weekend, Jenny went with me to help clean out my father's house . I have to get it ready for Mac and his daughter to live in. I found a letter from my father to me - I can't deal with reading it yet. Saturday there was a storm. I held Jenny in my childhood bed, and we listened to the sound of the thunder. Felt kind of funny to be in my old room with her. Like that little lonely space that I'd spent so many nights in sort of opened up somehow, and became big enough for two.
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Oh, one other thing. Why do they have to be exactly 100 words? That seems like an arbitrary and severe restriction.
I will have to backtrack for sure . . . I like the idea of the narrator or rather story unfolding from Michael. It leaves me with freeze frame glimpses of exactly what would be going through his mind at any given moment. His thoughts.
I do need to backtrack to get a feel about Michael, I am going on what is written here for now yet his concentration on his Father, caused me to bring about the limitations and feelings behind that of my own Father. I think through the Father, that is where you begin to know Michael.
These are part of a larger series, most of which are well over 100 words. While 100 is indeed a rather arbitrary number, I just wanted to include some tiny flash fictions interwoven through the larger pieces. There's a guide to the series and links to all the stories I've posted so far here . I think Awake (Passing Away) is probably the one that gives the most insight into Michael's relationship with his father.
The (mostly) positive response I've gotten from posting the stories here on Gather makes me hopeful that if I do manage to get them published as a book, I'll have some readers.