sweet divine.
my father keeps inviting my sister and me to his "house". by house I mean musty old trailor with sinking floors and bad television reception. Across smoke filled room she asks how we've been, I want to tell him that perhaps if he had anything to do with us when it's not convient for him (when my mother's in the hospital) then he would know, I can only choke out a small "fine" from the dusty old rocking recliner that I sit in. I attempt to rock in it, but the damned thing clicks everytime I go back, and I don't want to break the chair that he probably stole out of someone's garbage. He sits next to his girlfriend, her name's melissa, she's 27. my father is 40, he's known this woman since she was born, he's best friends with her father. Her two little kids, brittney and angelica (a coincidentally matching name) were running aroung in their nightgowns, a trademark of my childhood was running around in nightgowns. That made me sad. I feel like I've been replaced by a bratty little girl named after a cartoon character from a bad cartoon. Lighting cigarette after cigarette, I can tell he's nervous. I'd be nervous if I knew that my daughters hated me.
sweet revelation.
sweet revelation.