Day Seven: Lost time – Part II

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Did you miss Part I

My seat was always in the middle, to the right of my mother and the left of my father, and I ate with my head down. There was no sense looking at my parents because they would not be looking at me. Even if they had, I hated looking at Mom. There’s something so horrifying about seeing a person whose spirit has been broken. Dinnertime was all the proof I needed to know that Mom was an empty shell, barely recognizable as a person.

There was always the attempt at conversation. I wanted so badly to be part of my father’s life, his day, his job. And though I knew he wouldn’t respond, I always tried.

“Dad?”

“Mmpph,” he’d reply, his mouth stuffed with food.

“How was work today?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” His voice sounded edgy, and though I knew I shouldn’t, I pushed harder. After all, he was my father and I loved him. “What happened? Was it a bad day?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” The rising volume warned me, like a growling bear. He was in a bad mood just like all the other nights. And just like all those other nights, my attempts had failed. But I never learned, and I never stopped trying. Surely, if anyone could cheer Dad up after a bad day, I could. Cautiously, I approached again.

“Dad…”

“SHUT UP! Can’t you see I’m trying to eat?! Why do you keep bothering me? Just sit there and let me eat in peace!”

Silence. Only the silverware hitting the plates dared to make a sound. Why did he always yell at me like that? What did I do wrong? I must have been a bad son. A good son wouldn’t have bothered his father during dinner. A good son would have eaten his food and kept quiet.

Lost time – Part III tomorrow…

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