The drive across the 14th St bridge and down to Springfield Mall was very short, relatively speaking. With the crowd of the Cherry Blossom Festival even at the hour I left the Mall it was still very busy. After about 45 minutes of driving I found myself pulling up beside my fathers F-250 in Springfield. Although it was a sound meeting place, roughly halfway between the both of us, it felt no less shady. It was dark and the parking lot, albeit full of cars, was eerily still. Shaking off this feeling I braced myself for the lecture I knew to be coming before climbing into the passenger seat with him. Even in my 30s I still have to mentally prepare for them.
“Hey. How was the drive up from the Berg?” I asked settling in. “It was alright,” my father said evenly as he surveyed me coolly from behind his rectangle framed glasses. I held his gaze. I knew what he was doing. He was silently taking my measure; doing that thing he always does when he tries to make sure I’m okay without actually asking me. “I’m surprised I got here before you though. Always traffic on 95 northbound,” he added. “Yeah I was on 95 too. Different set of traffic though. You have all the Virginians rushing to the city to enjoy their time, I’ve got the Washingtonians who are just too drained after a week of work in windowless dungeons to drive with any haste. We are all just zombies trying to escape the pain by Friday evening,” I said laughing. He chuckled but said nothing. For a while we both sort of gazed out of our respective windows. “Here,” I heard my father say off to my left. I turned and he was holding the money I needed to keep my car from getting reposed. I froze just before I took it and that was all the hesitation my father needed to read that I was not as okay as I tried to make everyone seem. Though I tried to recover and take the money with a meek “Thank you” he had already peered past that wall. It was he after who taught me how to lay the bricks for its foundation. “Hey. You know this comes with a lecture, right? About laying your foundation. Getting money together,” he said in the manner he conveyed important messages to my siblings and I without becoming heated. “Yes. I’m trying. I am! I just feel like I keep failing,” I said looking away in a vain attempt to hide to jab to my pride I felt. “Is that right?” my father asked raising a brow. “I’m asking you to bail me out. To pay for the car I made the decision to buy. Not you! I don’t even know if I will have a roof over my head in a few weeks because I was so BLIND to this man. And I KNOW you and mom taught me better than this. I was fucking dumb!” I said voice cracking and eyes watering. The wave of emotion that I hid from everyone on a daily came flooding into the cab of his truck. The pain, anger, confusion, betrayal, sadness, and hopelessness I felt all fizzed over in a single moment. “Hey. Look at me. Every man and woman on this Earth is gon’ need help from time to time. You ain’t no different. Yeah you messed up. We all get a little stupid for love. So I’m not about to sit here and judge you or dog you when you down. Be down. Go through it. So long as you know you gon have to eventually get back up. Don’t stay down. Staying down is how you become bitter,” he said calmly. I opened my mouth to speak but turned away quickly. I wanted to argue I wasn’t bitter but I knew that he knew that would be a lie. Most days I wanted nothing more than to just curl up in a ball and lay in bed doing absolutely nothing. No showering, no eating, no homework, no work, barely wanting to take care of my dog. Getting out of bed though a tedious task most of my life, is not a painful one. Everyday I wake and realize it’s not a dream. It’s a reality and I have to live this new day masking it. Concealing it as it slowly consumed me. “I don’t want to be,” I said simply. “I know. I can see that. I also see you are hurt,” he said causing me to look back at him from my window. “Don’t bother denying it there junior. You might can fool ya lil friends out there in them streets but I made you remember?” he said lightening the mood. I chuckled. I had to give it to the man, he certainly knew how to diffuse tension. I suppose in our household of me and my mothers fiery dispositions being able to handle explosive situations is a learned skill. “I just feel…helpless? Like where was I these past few months? Why didn’t I see it? Or DO anything then?” I asked wiping my eyes. “Depression look different for everybody,” my father said simply. “Mm…you know my boss suggested to me, completely in passing, that I have counseling services available through the company,” I said casually. “Are you going to?” he asked without inflection. “I don’t know…I’m not sure I-“ want to? Need to? I’m a man. I should be able to do this on my own. At least that’s what I thought. The words stopped in my throat. “I had one for a long time when me and ya mom had our thing those years ago,” he said looking at me. I was genuinely shocked. “I-I never knew!” I said amazed. My so calm, so structured, so well put together father needing a shrink stunned me more than anything to date. “Nothing to be ashamed about. Men have to stop thinking we are too tough for emotions. Or in our case too smart for them,” he said nudging me. “Hey. I agree!” I said laughing. “Seriously Felipe. You can’t spend too much time looking back. You have to look forward. I see it like this…so many people spend so much time looking in their rearview. Look at it-“ he said motioning to the rearview. “-Look at how small a portion of the windshield it takes up. That’s like 10%. And we spend so much time looking back ‘Oh I almost hit that tree’ or ‘Oh I almost had this or that’. So much looking back at this tiny piece of it instead of looking at the 90% that’s still to come. Preparing ourselves for the fork in the road or to brake for a stop sign or traffic light,” he said passionately. It was moments like these that I was reminded very strongly that I was his son. We were so alike in more ways than I believe either of us wanted to recognize. This forward thinking and planning mantra was definitely at the forefront of those ways. I laughed. A good laugh. An actual laugh. What was I doing being so down on myself? Who was I trying to be wallowing in the decisions I made? As if he could read my mind my father said- “You have to decide what you want for you. YOUR name is Joao Felipe Abreu Santos. YOU have to decided what that means to you and who YOU want to me. But that requires you to be present to live that life,” he finished. “I know. I’m just….I’m 31-“ I started. “And it shows,” my father interrupted to which I punched his shoulder. “I’m 31 and a soon-to-be divorcee. My hair is falling out, I do that creepy old man over the glasses look now. Who is going to want to be with me now?” I asked frustrated. He laughed. “Somebody else with his hair falling out? Hell maybe somebody with they teeth fallin out,” he joked. “DAD! I’m serious! I am a mess” I said laughing. “No. No you’re not son. You’re much more intelligent than that so you’ll handle this in a much better way than most before you,” he said supportively with a hand on my shoulder. “With an incontrovertible sense of humor?” I asked. “Just to be clear you are trying to KEEP a man right?” he said frowning. I hit him again. After wrapping up our conversation with more talk and changing subject to our family, I was on the road heading back N to the capital. Though I was forever grateful for having such a father in my life it got me thinking about the thinking traps that he mentioned. Were we all just driving down the road looking trying to find our way to love? Often it felt like trying to find love was like trying to navigate through NWDC without GPS. Being forced into a roundabout and not able to get off on your exit so you drive onto the next available one only to end up miles away from where you were originally intending. Or stuck bumper to bumper as someone casually throws on blinkers for a parking spot they know they are too big to fit into. When it comes to love how do we stop looking in the rearview and open our eyes to all that could be waiting for us ahead? As I was making my way down 14th a crazy Maryland driver starts blowing his horn behind me as if I were driving too slow; a driver in a red Toyota Corolla. Why is it always Toyota? I glance in my rearview to see him motioning me to move. I do not increase my speed and go about my business. Seconds later he revs his engine and tries to get around me only to almost collide with the person that was trying to pass him. They both blow angrily as driver number three speeds off. The man behind me pulls out into the left lane again to try and pass me. He is successful and gets in front of my and slows to about 10-15 mph. I roll my eyes and turn down L street to circumvent Thomas Circle. He speeds back up to normal speed as I leave. Fucking Corollas. My phone buzzed and I pulled it out to look at the message. “I hope you got something good planned for tomorrow. I can’t wait!” read Tadeus message. I smiled as I took my roundabout exit onto Rhode Island from Logan Circle. Live in a city long enough and eventually you won’t need GPS to chart your course for you. SCREEEEEEECH! I looked in my rearview as I pulled up to a light to see two people hastily getting out of cars that were now blocking the Rhode Island exit of Logan Circle. One car, a black Dodge Challenger was fine, and the other, a red Toyota corolla, had a headlight out and scrunched hood. No. We shouldn’t linger in that rearview but occasionally it can offer you some small victories.
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AuthorFredric J Silva was born in small Columbus, GA. Early on in life he realized he had a knack for travel and literature. As an adult he decided to not just pursue them both but blend them together to create and share experiences with the world. You can find out more at www.pretinhosp.weebly.com Archives
May 2023
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