The Between Years

least a day or two then sent him to school as healthy as a horse. No questions asked. And you’re lucky Mom (rest her soul) didn’t work, so you never had to make excuses to her bosses for missing work.
    Of course, I never missed a turn as soon as I was old enough (or, old enough in your eyes). Saying that nothing I did was ever good enough for you would be an understatement. In fact, I’m at a loss to articulate that feeling. The day I told you I didn’t want to play the piano triggered my worst beating. The first time I brought a report card home short of straight A’s was more merciful, but still . . . . Fortunately, you spared my face and left no visible marks.
    I shudder to imagine how you would’ve reacted had I dared to bring a boy home. Looking back, I wish I could’ve rubbed it in your face. Alas, I was never afforded that chance. If I had been, you might’ve spared him the charm that you’ve poured on for so many, and exposed your true self.
    And then came the day you walked out on us. I never understood why exactly. But it was funny, given that it hadn’t been for another woman. You never had other women, which came as a shock to Mom, Josh and I. You weren’t the typical alcoholic bad father either, which I also remember thinking. But I remember the fifteen year old girl I was when you slammed our front door and on your life with us.
    What triggered that, I wonder? You made it clear that you were the king of the castle and that you’d be the last one to go. Were we not perfect enough for you? Mom waited on you, hand and foot. Josh was as good a son as he knew how to be, and as good a student as he could manage (dyslexia and all), and I finally mastered The Marriage of Figaro . I shouldn’t have believed that your jacketed back as you walked away was the last that I would ever see of you.
    And you might be in for a surprise now, Father. But I didn’t want you to leave. I didn’t want to see you walk out the door.
    Sure, those close to us (in other words, those who knew the real you) insisted that it was for the best, that we were finally free. I shed no tears, but if I had, I know that each of them would have told me that better days were ahead.
    But that wasn’t how I saw it, not in the beginning, at least. To me, your walking out on us was the cruellest thing that you ever did. Yes, there were the practical matters that you left behind, like how Mom had to take care of Josh and me with zero help from you. And you sent no card to say where you were (no kidding). Mom never could fend for herself and the bank foreclosed on the house.
    But that was okay by you, I suppose. Men like you always find a way to justify their neglect. You didn’t live there anymore, Mom was no longer your wife, and Josh and I might as well have been bastards.
    No, what made your swan song so awful for me was that you gave up on us. Even in your knuckle-rapping and ass-beating, you were still willing to accept our flaws and move on. When you left us, I knew that you weren’t willing to weather us anymore. You had thrown in the towel.
    I’ll have you know that I survived the rest of my teenage years without you, and even earned a B.A. from Brock University, and went on to earn my Masters in English Literature from McMaster. But I suppose you saw the diplomas on my wall.
    I have a teaching gig at the community college that I love, but you seem to know all about it. You even learned my phone extension at the office, though you should’ve known that I wouldn’t want to hear from you. I guess one can access any information they want these days. Oh joy!
    My home is mine because I count my pennies and because I’m responsible. I don’t plan to lose it the way you lost our house for us.
    But it’s lonely here. Divorce sure wasn’t a pleasant experience, but you couldn’t know about that, since I’ve tossed out every picture of Peter I had, wedding photos and all. Disappointed much? I guess everything I know about keeping a marriage together I learned from you.
    The divorce happened first, swift and peaceful. After Mom passed, I decided that I was completely independent for the first time in my life. But boy was I in for a surprise. Like I said, here you are.
    As I reflect, I ask again: Why did you stroll back into my life?
    ***
    When Lorraine, the English department’s administrative assistant, told me that I had a call from my father on line one, I dismissed it as a joke (albeit a very cruel one). But line one on