Battle lines are being drawn

Last night was bad in that unexpected phone call way.

A recurring nightmare kind of bad.

I was flying around my restaurant, bussing tables in high heels, when one of the other hostesses came up and said to call my father.

The same person that I hadn't seen or talked to in months.

How did he even find out where I worked?

I treaded unsteadily to the hostess stand, and picked up the phone. On the other line was a sickly sweet happy voice with a raspy woman's yells in the background.

"Hey sugar."
"Dad. What's wrong?"
"Nothing sweetie, I just wanted to say hey."
"Dad, I'm working. I need to go. Bye."

The other girls around me saw something come over my face. I could see their immediate reactions of concern. I quickly hung up and flew over the numbers to my house.

"Mom, I think Dad is drunk and he wants to visit me."

And then it all hit me.

Considering the opportunities that he once had, my father is a real deadbeat. He grew up immensely wealthy, traveled around Europe, came back home

and became an electrician.

He was such a brilliant man, too. Just like his father. But there was always one fatal flaw in my father's character. He could not take the pressure to succeed. His father expected him to do so well, he collapsed and became something that half of his character could have easily mastered. That was all fine and well when he married my mother.

But then they had me. Once again another towering mountain of responsibility. He hasn't been able to keep a stable job, a stable wife, or a stable daughter since.

I was at a friend's party on July 4th, when my newest psycho stepmom called ranting that my father was an alcoholic with a drug problem and hepatitis and he was drinking dry all every bar that he could get to.

I had not known any of that. None.

I have stayed far far away from him since. His new wife controls his every move. She hates me, because I am the one thing in his life that she has no power over.

I admit it. I jumped ship. I cut loose the rope and hoped that some good would come of it. I have so many issues with my father that I tried to smile and push them aside as they filed past.

But a closet can only hold so many skeletons.


I went back to bussing tables, and I felt that old demonic panic crawling up my veins. Through hyperventilated breaths I clocked out and hid in one of the dining rooms. And I listened to the guilt trip voicemails that Virginia had left me.

And it was the last straw. All of my life, I have never one raised my voice to my father. But I did this time.

Who knows what is going to happen with all of this. I finally opened the floodgate to the fact that I have had an imaginary father most of my life.

I wonder how far the apple really falls from the tree.