Father

It’s been too long since I’ve seen my father. Occasionally, I even forget his face unless I take a look at the photos I have of him.

He contacts me sometimes, so I guess you can say we are acquainted. It’s not awkward at all. He is still my father. I know how to talk to him.

But it’s a little daunting to see him face-to-face.

Especially when today is Father’s Day.

Should I greet him or not?

Should I pretend I didn’t know? Ignore it? It’s not all lies. I did forget about it. I thank Facebook for making me remember days like this. And anyway, he knows I am terrible with dates... At least, I hope so. I am his daughter. He should know some things about me besides the obvious.

We talk about a few things... But most of the time, it is filled with pauses and awkward silences.

Did I say awkward? Because it is. A lot. It’s really different talking to him on the phone and talking to him face-to-face. I did not expect that.

I was not prepared for this after all. Meeting a parent who hasn’t been with you for a long time now is seriously taxing.

But a little exciting, too. Though all the feelings I had were not that overwhelming. I’m still feeling around, testing the waters, so to speak.

Then the woman he left us for comes, sits in another chair at the table we were sitting at with ease, and smiles at me.

I didn’t see her overall expression. Or, more accurately, I did not want to see it. I just saw her lips curving into a smile.

I didn’t feel anything.

But I smiled back.

It’s wrong. I didn’t like her. I didn’t want her there. This was supposed to be about us. OUR time. I rarely see my father. I can count on one hand the number of days we see each other in a year. And it hasn’t even reached double digits in terms of hours.

Still, I smiled at her.

It’s wrong. But it is a reflex. An action I always do when someone smiles at me for no reason and I don’t know what to do.

I felt empty, though. I didn’t feel anything. Disappointment, annoyance, anger... Nothing. It was like there was a strange, gaping black hole deep inside my chest.

My eyes were dry. My lips twitched involuntarily. My hands tightened into fists while holding the phone in my hand.

I knew our time was running out. Her presence had already dimmed the excitement I felt before.

He escorts me back to our neighborhood. He smiled at me, his eyes shining and genuinely pleased to see me.

I saw him holding that woman’s hand.

I smiled at him, knowing that I did not feel anything while I did it.

It’s empty.

I don’t know if he notices. If he ever does, what would he do anyway? I decided I didn’t care enough to know.

I took hold of his hand and put the back of it on my forehead as the usual sign of respect.

“Take care,” he said to me.

I nodded, still smiling, even giving a small chuckle.

I wasn’t used to that voice, concern dripping from his words.

“Happy Father’s Day,” I said, the words reflexively coming out of my mouth. It sounded empty, a bland greeting. I didn’t know why I said that. I had no intention of saying that.

The woman’s presence cemented that decision. At least, I thought so. Yet, I still went ahead and greeted him.

There is nothing happy about this day. Nothing to celebrate.

I shouldn’t have said that.

His eyes widened, though. His cheeks reddened a bit, and he was smiling widely while he, seemingly impulsively, kissed my forehead. His overall expression screamed of pleasant surprise. It was as if he was so happy to hear me greet him about some day that isn’t really important.

Because it is not.

I... don’t even think he deserves to be greeted. That thought saddened me for a bit.

“Thank you,” he whispered to me.

My chest ached almost immediately. It’s a little startling how it attacked without warning. I felt a huge lump in my throat, and it was a little hard to swallow. I could feel my lips starting to wobble.

I remembered the times when he was still with us, when we were still complete and happy. When I could freely express my joy at having him as my father.

I remembered his happiness when he was with us. With every ruffle of his huge hands through my hair, how fussy he was over my tomboyish attire, his protectiveness regarding my friends.

But then I remembered the fights, the shouts, the silent treatment, the gloominess of the house, and his eventual leaving.

I remembered asking myself, How did it go so wrong?

My eyes, as if in response to my flashbacks, threatened to burn. I tried my best to keep anything more from happening. My heart felt like it was being squeezed to a pulp. It felt painful inside me. It was like I was being squeezed by a hand full of thorns.

It was a little hard to breathe.

I didn’t know that what I read in the books I had at home, describing what happens when experiencing an onslaught of overwhelming emotions, was true.

It’s hard. It’s difficult to continue standing there in front of them as if everything were still okay.

I told myself to finish this before giving him a soft smile. It’s a little more strenuous to do it now than before.

He gave me a 1,000-peso bill. I felt ashamed while taking it from his hand.

It’s the least he could do for giving up on us, I said to myself. It would help. I won’t have to ask Mom for my fare for a few more days, I continued assuring myself.

That didn’t erase the shame I felt.

It feels like he felt the need to give me money after I greeted him. I know, though, that that wasn’t why he gave me money. It didn’t make this situation any better.

The money feels dirty in my hands while I’m holding it.

My chest ached fiercely. I gritted my teeth. I have to make it through this day without letting my father see. I don’t want him to see.

He has no need to see. He doesn’t have to see. He can’t do anything about it after all. Not that he will, I thought to myself almost absently.

That exacerbates what I felt.

The truth hurts. I already knew that, though, even before this day.

It’s fine, I told myself. We’re still okay here. We don’t need him to be with us.

We’re fine.

I felt my hands starting to shake, and I quickly hid them behind my back.

“Bye,” I said before abruptly walking away.

I had to get away. Now.

After a few seconds of pause, I finally heard the car screeching behind me as they drove away.

I didn’t turn back to see. I didn’t want to see.

I swallowed hard.

My heart hurts. My eyes burned, and I felt the tears I tried to hold back dripping down my cheeks without warning. I let them fall for a moment. There wasn’t anyone around to see anyway.

He’s been gone for so many years already. I should be used to it. It shouldn’t affect me this hard anymore.

I don’t want to cry.

I won’t.

Father’s Day...

“Thank you,” he had said.

I heard the unmistakable happiness in his voice.

I hate it.

I hate it!

I hastily wiped the bitter tears with my hands and tried my best to calm down.

I hate this day.

End.