I saw him again today for the first time in – well, who knows how long. He was sitting on the second floor balcony of Terry’s Diner down on 3rd street.
Of course he was.
He’s always been above me, looking down on me, and I am eternally looking up to him. Yet even up on his mighty balcony perch he looked smaller than he had always seemed to me in the old days. He seemed somehow diminished...
He had a small crowd of people gathered around him.
Of course he did.
Sitting huddled around his table, sucking thick chocolate through their straws with their eyes and ears turned attentively toward him. So typical. Wherever he goes, completely incapable of solitude.
Of course he is.
Even when he does get a minute away from the crowds, his Father is always with him.
I thought of going up to him.
I thought of pushing my way through the crowd and demanding that he acknowledge me and admit that he knows why I did it, that he understands. I know he knows. I know he understands.
But no, that would be too bold of me.
I thought of making my way up the stairs only to stand at the back of the crowd and watch him speak. Even from my spot down on the street, I could see the same look of conceited enthusiasm that he had always had.
As I walked past the diner and crossed onto the next street, I wondered whether he would even have noticed me if I had gone up to him.
I wondered whether he had ever really noticed me.
Of course he hadn't.
How could he ever see through what I did to who I am?