life times & love

I threw my last pack of empty Newports in the plastic bag that hung from the doorknob. The room was a dingy tan that reminded me of the beach sand. We emptied it yesterday and it felt like a ritual now. To run away or to try to make up for something that was lost.

I kept the picture of mom there though. He needed that. Dad took the picture of her holding me back in May when I was just turning 5 years old. My skin didn’t look as pungent, and my childhood chubbiness was concealed behind a bright Sunday dress that they told me I wore all the time. The photo looked alone, but so did the room’s color. A beach’s sand shouldn’t stranded out in the middle of nowhere in Jersey where it couldn’t meet back with the ocean on one gust of wind.

It’s why I couldn’t take it. “You sure ‘bout this Syd?” I turned around and saw Dad staring into the room with me. His eyes stuck on the picture.

I nodded my head and hugged him. He pushed me away quickly when I didn’t start to cry and kissed my forehead. Since we already packed my bags and threw them in the back of the Dodge there was no need to linger in the house, to try to get me to stay any longer, because I looked back on his erratic display of frames and frowned. Now after seeing Dad’s light in another state it was petty, something that a kindergartner would do to get the attention of their parents who obviously didn’t care.

The car ride to Newark Airport was too long. It reminded me of the time he had to pick me up from this party in Miami. Somehow he found out that I went there with a couple of friends, he got angry and pulled me out, into his truck and we drove back to the Keys. He was silent all the way, because he was upset that I broke his trust. He thought I knew better and after that he drove through the boggy one sided highway across the bridges and sharp turns.

We got to the airport too early, and I didn’t want him to wait with me before I went through security. I bought a couple of books and my CD player, so I was sure I’d be fully occupied. “I’m sorry.” I mumbled to him after I adjusted my bag on my shoulder.

“It’s okay Syd.” He doesn’t understand like he should. He doesn’t understand that he should move back to Florida, take back the crumby souvenir shop and just try to fall in love with the town again. But I didn’t want to push it. He’d be fine here in Jersey.

“Oh, here. I forgot.” I dug into the pocket of my bag and gave him a tape. “Made you a mix tape, of your songs.” By songs I meant the ones him and mom danced to on the living room floor, the planks of wood creaking softly under their weight, humming to the music.

He nodded his head and bit his lip. “Thanks.” He gave me another firm hug and told me to get going. He turned on his heel and started a brisk walk outside of the building. I stared at him until he was out through the doors.