But The Quest for Beauty is a Beast. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A Call I do not know what compelled me to do it. Was it curiosity? A longing for something I don't understand? A dire need for acceptance from the other side of my family? After fourteen years, I called my father. At first I called my Aunt Viv. I had to explain who I was for about three minutes, but once she realized that it was me, her niece who she had not seen since the wee age of four, I could hear the excitement in her voice. She told me how they sent cards every year, how they always wanted to talk to us, how much they missed us. She convinced me to call my father, telling me he would fall off of his chair with excitement. I was scared. "Hello" "Hi, this is your daughter *** *** ***, I called to see how you are and to talk to you." A pause. "Oh hi." He didn't seem excited at all, or maybe it was the fact that he is sick. I could hear it in his voice, in his long silences, his cough which seemed to scream, "Emphysemia!" and the fact that he was hard of hearing. From what few memories I have this didn't seem like my father at all. Sadness welled up inside of me. "How is your mother? How is your brother?" As I explained to him I tried not to reveal too much, knowing that this would upset my mom. Our conversation was filled with many akward silences. He told me, "I am retired from the army. Have been for ten years." His speech was thick with an accent that I do not posess, and somehow this made me feel even more distant. I tried to ask questions, but having no knowledge of his life except the horrible atrocities that he supposedly commited from my mother who always speaks of him with vehemence, this proved to be a difficult task. He obviously felt the same. He offered to send tickets in December for the flight up to see him, but said, with a hint of shame in his voice, "We don't have much room. You will probably have to sleep on the floor." "That doesn't matter to me!" I exclaimed, "I just really want to see you." This seemed to fill him with a sense of relief, and my heart ached for the man who I pictured to be so strong and valiant. "I have to go." I said. I didn't know what else to say. The silence was overbearing. I called my mom. "Dim, this is something a bit more important than to talk about over the phone with me about. We will discuss it when I get home Sweetie." I agreed, but I had to talk to someone. So I called Center for Discovery. I always feel guilty about calling, I feel as if they are too busy. But I had to talk to someone. One of my favorite staff ended up being on shift. It was nice to just say what I wanted to, to explain, or rather try to explain, why I did it. I realized how much I miss it there, the freedom to say what I wanted to, the laughter, the giddiness and sense of security I had that came from knowing I could not harm myself. I miss it. I miss it all. I am so scared to leave my house. So scared to be alone, yet scared to be around people as I might make a fool out of myself. Sink or swim, no one to save you. Flailing, toss me a roap. No one offers a hand, but instead a stare. All afraid to move, they watch the current gently but with firmness pull under the victim. If only they had tossed a rope. 9:52 a.m. - 2003-09-25 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------- |
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