And Then There Was The Time My Father Saved Me... (A PHYLLIS Spin-Off) The Miller men arent known for their emotional expression. Wit, usually. Intelligence, sometimes. Modesty, rarely. There are, however, exceptions. Rupture points at which Gilgameshian deluges may occur. For some, the loss of a loved one. Or a fight fraught with frustration. For me, it was a painful first break-up. I was working at The Winchester Twin, which was a movie theater located in the back reaches of a parking lot. On that fateful day, I was working in the box office...a glass rotunda of the room that allowed passersby and patrons to look in and for me to look out and daydream. Before the advent of the cellphones and text messages became the harbingers of doom, there was simply just the phone..with a cord. I had just received a phone call from a friend disclosing information that my then-boyfriend was actually dating another guy at the same time. The news eviscersted me. I gripped the phone cord...feeling my hands become sweaty on the coils. The heat of my tears steamed my glasses, and I became acutely aware of how vulnerable I was...both emotionally and physically. I called home. My father picked up the phone. Not the voice I expected, as my mother usually answered. There was no time to mask my pain though. as I had already started talking. Stammering actually. Im hurt, I said. I feel like a fool. Do what? he responded. It seems like a simple phrase to say in turn, but you have to understand my father has a slight stutter and speaks akin to Boomhauer from King of the Hill. I say this only to make the point that it usually makes me feel like I have to repeat what Im saying...even though I know he understands me. This time, the reprise only makes me more emotional. And I add, My boyfriend is cheating on me. There is a silence. Seconds pass. Civilizations fall. I dont know what to tell you, he exclaims. And I know he truly doesnt...just as I have no idea who to tell about my heartache. Or how to begin to heal. I assure him that I will pull myself together and finish my shift, and I begin this resolution by telling him goodbye. To my word, I carry on. I wipe my tears on my hands and wipe my hands on my cheap khaki Dockers. I feign enthusiasm for customer service as patrons arrive. When the ticket stock runs out, I bend down to replace it. When I stand back up, my father is standing there. My father. I cry. I remember this. He enters the theater and walks directly Into the box office. He holds out his arms to me and lets me fall into him. A move I havent made in 10 years...not since I stubbed my toe into a bloody mess while skateboarding barefoot...A move he hasnt made since our first pet died. I remember all of this. I remember him holding me as a child. I cry. My father embraces me as I sob deeply into his shoulder. As effluvium from my nose falls onto his golf shirt, he says, I love you, son. There is no stuttering. There is no repeating of information. There are just four words. Four words that accept me in this glass box office of a prism that is visible to all. An emotional expression exponentially exhibited. A recognition and a resolve And a release. That was the day my father saved me. That is the day I think of as Im lying here now In my childhood room hoping to heal his heart as well.
Posted on: Sat, 19 Apr 2014 08:28:31 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015