Painting credits to Amy Judd again for her beautiful art work.
“Moms hair was just pink right?”
My father's hands slapped against the table, he scoffed hard enough to scratch his uvula.
“Just pink? Her hair put rainbows to shame, her hair put unicorns to shame, her hair seemed to shift colors whenever she moved.
” I could feel my fathers mood settling down, his breath slowed, and his skin wasn’t as hot anymore.
“And then I got the surgery right?”
“Yeah, you did. And...when you woke up you were so brave. You told your mom you could still see all the colors. When she cried into you, I think she really believed it.
You tried to keep up the facade for so long, you’d touch walls and tell her that there was yellow, or green, or purple. But then...”
“Yes you did, but your mom still loved you. And I do too, we adapted and here we are.” I tried to smile but the full extent of our situation was more than just, adapting.
“I think hiding is a better word for it.”
My father stiffened, he cleared his throat and shifted his plate around. “Germ kiddo, sometimes being forgotten, hiding away, is an even better way of adapting.
It keeps us safe and alive okay?”
“Didn’t keep mom safe.” There was a hard scratch of the plate. I didn’t know why I was doing this, it felt like my words were bubbling out again.
“That was the beginning, it's different now.” His chair made a dragging sound as he pushed it back and stood up. He picked up his plate, I knew he hadn’t finished any of his pizza.
“Finish your food Jermey.” He still stomped to the kitchen, this time it felt more deliberate than habitual.
“I wish she was here.”
“When you’re a writer, you don’t have to wish. You can just lie, maybe tonight I’ll read you the one where she lives.” The water began to run, I turned away from the sound.
My heart was beating faster, I couldn’t focus on what was making me nervous at the moment.
“Yes please.” My voice was barely above a whisper, but I knew he had heard it. I slowly reached for my plate feeling around until I picked up the pizza. “We’re fine.” I murmured to myself.
I wasn’t sure if I was being an author at the moment, but either way, I believed it.