The Nails
At 8:07 pm on a Saturday night in early January of 1996, my dad got up from his lazy boy and turned off the television. The 4 of us sat around, lazily looking at each other. I think Amy or I suggested a game or a puzzle or something, but Dad just shook his head and looked pointedly at Mom. Mom stared at him in disbelief and said, "You mean you're not even going to tell them?!" The look in her eyes was sad and tired and Amy and I scooched closer together on the couch, waiting for the next move to be played out. At 15 and 12 we had no clue what was about to happen.
Our family grew up in what I refer to as "the bubble." As far as families are concerned, ours was pretty close. My dad was always traveling, but we tried to make it a point to spend weekends together up in the mountains at our other home. There we would hike, bike, fish, and spend time together. I realize now how much I miss that and how lucky we were - for awhile.
Mom removed her glasses and started to cry. She managed to tell us that Dad had been offered a promotion with his company and that he would be leaving for Texas at the end of February. Amy and I looked nervously at each other, waiting for the bomb to drop that we would be moving away from our home and our friends. Instead, Mom continued. "You girls and I, we have not been invited. Your father and I are getting a divorce." I laughed out loud at the joke I thought my parents were playing on me, but when my dad refused to make eye contact with any of us, we knew that it was true.
No one knew that my parents had been suffering problems for that long because they were both too good at hiding it. I always thought that I had the perfect family, despite the fact that my father favored my sister. In my head was the romanticized picture of my whole life and how my parents would both be involved in it. Kind of ironic, isn't it, how drastically everything can change in an instant.
Awkwardly enough, Dad continued to live with us at our Denver house for 3 weeks following the devastating announcement. My sister and I were confused because nothing had seemingly changed. My sixteenth birthday came and went, the most stressful birthday of my remembering life, and a couple of days after that my father announced that he would be moving up to our other house on the weekend. Lee took me, Mom, and Amy out that day to get away from the house, and when we returned in the afternoon we were surprised at how obvious it was that he had gone.
Both of our houses were well-equipped with the necessities - food, tools, games, photographs, movies, and clothes. It was always nice to be able to leave one house without having to pack anything because it was already at the other. I took for granted the convenience and beauty of the mountain house, and now I miss it a little more each day. I miss the fresh, crisp air and the friendly locals. I miss the sound of the breeze whispering through the tall pines. I miss the time that was spent there with family and friends.
Walking around the house, most of the big stuff was intact. The furniture was all there and accounted for, and all of the pictures remained. All of Dad's clothes were gone, down to the very last pair of winter gloves and summer sandals. The toolbox was still there, but most of the tools were missing - including all of our nails. To this day I still do not know what possessed him to proove his pettiness. Even then I was surprised when I realized the pity I felt for him. The next weekend he came back down with some stuff from the mountain house that he did not want. I don't remember what all he hauled back to the city, but the most surprising thing in all of those boxes were all of the photographs. All of them. I think it was at this point when I realized that he didn't only want to divorce my mom - he wanted to get rid of me and Amy as well. Ouch.
I miss my dad. True that we were never close and that he has always been disappointed in me, but I still miss him. There is a void that only a father can fill, and mine is still vacant. I have grown accustomed to it, but I'll always know that it's there.