konnichiwa

where have you been my whole life? dare i ask? how many circles have you made around this world? your journeys are countless, too many to remember. you say she throws that in your face now, how you were always gone and she raised us herself. the truth hurts doesn’t it?

but now… now you are here. and i’m not sure what to do with my hands. or my heart. i just go with it. wherever it takes me.

you answer the phone, “konnichiwa?” and fire off a whole string of sentences in fluent japanese. you make me laugh and it’s then with feigned exasperation you proceed to tell me the latest adventure on the homefront.

because, for what is happening at home, there is no other description than ‘adventure’… one surely could say ‘hell’ or ‘purgatory’ because we all certainly are awaiting something similiar to a bomb dropping into our lives. it’ll be the big one. we know it’s coming, we just don’t know when. so, for now, we call life ‘an adventure’. tongue in cheek.

it’s also a blessing. every single day.

“i spent three hours looking through your mother’s desk trying to find your birth certificate. do you know how many penzey’s spice catalogs she has?!”

(this is the desk i will inherit when she dies. “if she dies” i used to say. now i know better. the silence is more than just static on my end of the phone.)

“oh” i remark, unable to hide my mood.

“hey, you sound down.”

who are you anyway? and what have you done with the father i’m accustomed to? your statement catches me off guard so i lie and say i’m just bored … because your honesty scares me.  it’s like you can suddenly see through me. we are the two fish, remember? 

two pisces, too similiar.

later we are face to face on skype and i laugh again mentioning how you’re becoming intuitive in your old age. we jab at each other this way, in the relationship we are forging into uncharted waters after 35 years. i comment on your jowls and skin pallor, you tell me to brush my hair.

we laugh more than ever now. i’m just getting to know you. and you know what? i like you.

“oh, i was always intuitive, i’ve just now got the balls to say it.”

my mom is in the shadows with her hand in her mouth. she and i fizzle and misfire and don’t kow how to find connection. sometimes skype is too much. too much to see that i don’t want to accept. i miss her dearly even when she is right in front of me.

“your baby book said ‘our little girl’ on the cover. it’s pink.” she tells me.

“yup, that’s me, i’m your little girl.” i say smiling through tears that she doesn’t see or understand, but now i know my father feels.

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