Being Honest

Posted on | June 1, 2004 | No Comments

I know there are things that should be worked out between us, but I don’t know that I have the strength of character to be honest with you.

What am I afraid of? What makes me think that things will remain the way they are? Years. Time. The cold shoulder is a bulldozer and I just don’t know if I have the time to plough through your silence. Maybe I am crazy for thinking that it will all work out in the end. But what would happen if I died tomorrow? Would you regret the ten years of ignorance? I think Alexis’s wedding is what has driven my mind to this dusty isle. Haven’t been here for a while. Didn’t miss it at all. I don’t know if I miss you too. I am used to calling Les my Papa-san, but I will never call him Daddy. That name remains for the ghost of a man that loved his daughter in years gone by.

I hate being this way, longing for a relationship with someone I don’t know. It’s an idea: Daddy. Cotton candy and walks in the park holding hands. Fond embraces. But we never fared too far into the loving connection of family. The trip to Yosemite was as close as we got, but I remember us fighting. We always fought in the later years. I think that is the only way you know how to communicate.

I don’t remember your face. I have an image, half a reflection that has been distorted by time and my floundering memory. And things I associated with you have taken on new meaning, more profound, present represntations that echo now, not in the hollow past of our dearly departed family. I don’t know what I want from this wandering in my mind. Think it’s that damn writing class I was in tonight. I get all reflective, digging deep, when someone demands that my pen should bleed. But my ink needs more substance, and is dusty when writing your name.

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