Thursday, December 27, 2012
New Beginning 984
I paced up and down our small living room with its peeling walls and shabby furniture. My living room now. If I could make the rent.
I picked up a photograph of my mother from the mantelpiece. The small, pinched face had never looked this beautiful to me when she was alive. She had never been much of a companion to me, but right now I missed her acutely. At seventeen, I felt half a mother was better than none. If you’d asked me at thirteen, I might have felt differently.
The phone rang. I hesitated. It was probably yet another person calling to offer condolences. Let it ring.
But it wouldn’t stop, so I grabbed the receiver just to make it shut up. “Hello?”
“Iona?” An unfamiliar voice, but one that spoke with an accent I recognized.
“Who is this?” Even as I asked, I knew. There could be only one man with that particular European accent who would contact me.
“This is your father.”
My legs suddenly felt like Jello, so I sank into an armchair.
What was I supposed to say? Hi, Dad. Nice to hear from you. A shame you missed the first seventeen years of my life?
I decided to just wait. Let him explain himself.
"Iona? You there?"
"Mm-hmm," I replied.
"Oh, okay. Well look, just tell your mother I'm on my way home, and I couldn't get any; she'll have to use potatoes. I've looked literally everywhere and..."
On the bright side, I thought, he apparently knows the correct usage of the word "literally."
Opening: Crossword.....Continuation: Anon.