The last time I saw you

The last time I saw you, we were riding in your silver truck, filled with trash, broken seat springs, and the smell of stale beer and cigarettes filling the cab even with the window down. The truck ride felt longer than it was, each mile amplifying the unspoken tension. I wanted to escape, to fling open the door and disappear, I clung to the door making myself smaller. Your anger was palpable, and I was afraid, your face twisted in a scowl, we sat in silence. At the restaurant, you ordered your first of five bloody marys, and you took a long sip, a sigh escaping your lips. "I can't come to your graduation," your eyes darting around the room. "Your mother will be there, and I want to avoid any confrontation." I was too stunned to speak, my high school graduation, the ticket in my pocket waiting for him.

The weight of your statement pressed down on me, and I felt the familiar sting of disappointment. Your words hung in the air like a dark cloud, and I knew there was no changing your mind. I had seen that determined expression before, and I knew it was futile to argue. So, I sat there, numb, as the reality sank in. As we left the restaurant, the silence between us was heavy and uncomfortable.  There was no more conversation, there was no daring an argument. I felt a mix of emotions: hurt, anger, and a deep sense of loss. 

I remembered our weekend visits, the long hours spent in the basement room of your restaurant. The sticky bar floors and the smell of beer that lingered on my clothes. Those late nights, helping you clean up, doing what I was told, being seen but not heard like a good child, feeling like an adult among the mess. It was our routine, our unspoken tradition. And now, it felt like a distant memory, leaving me with a sense of loss and unease. As we parted ways that day, the silence was familiar and cold. I wanted to understand, to bridge the gap between us, but your mind was made up. Your decision left me with a familiar ache, one I had felt before when faced with your unwavering determination. So, I accepted your choice, knowing that my feelings were secondary. I carried the weight of your absence with me, a burden that felt all too familiar.

That day, I realized that some wounds are too deep to heal, and some relationships are too damaged to repair. I went home and told my mother I never wanted to see you again, and so I didn't.