it's still so fucking fresh. it's been years and it is still as fresh as it was 2 months after. the shock wave didnt hit me until then. i kept it hard and away, locking my fingers tight to the soft spot it aimed for until i let my guard down for one second. then i was overwhelmed with the fact that he was gone. his smell was gone. his house was gone. all that remained were tangible objects i clenched in my hands until they went numb.
what triggered today was seeing those planes by the side of the road half way sticking out of a huge pile of forgotten disposables. immediate rage filled me and i slammed the door to my car as hard as i could. i threw my work things down one by one: my dr pepper, my cigarettes, my ipod, my pinch hitter, and two neon green lighters i had just purchased. they all hit the ground with such velocity it sent them flying in different directions and the dr pepper exploded on the right pant leg of my jeans.
i picked up my dads first plane. the first one he ever made and was so proud of. i remembered him showing it to me with his gleaming face and shaking hands. hands that had cuts all over them from the work and time he put into his project. i remembered him driving it outside in the parking lot to get use to the controls so he wouldnt crash it on his first go. the other plane wasnt as important to him but he ranted over how the symbols came out so perfectly.
i collected my things along with the planes and awkwardly carried them inside past my mother who was taking pictures of her salt water aquarium. i didnt reply to her askings of my day, i just retreated into my room with my arms full of memories and daily things. i was angry with her and with frank for doing that without asking me. i hadnt known they werent at my sisters house, that they were here in the shed and in their way.
i asked for the wings, they said they werent here. they asked what was wrong and i said with my back turning, "these are my father's planes."
i know they didnt mean to do anything disrespectful to my father or dishonor his creations in any way. he has more planes at my grandparents house, the biggest at most decorated ones. they hadnt known this one in particular that i was so upset over was his first plane. but i was so angry. so angry i didnt know what to do with myself and i feel bad for not coming across in a more composed manner. i wasnt yelling or screaming, the exact opposite actually, but i feel bad for thinking bad things towards them for it and allowing them to believe they had done something terribly wrong.
i apologized, they left to get my mother's prescription, and here i am now. my eyes are puffy and it's taking a great deal to keep myself from crying all over again. i have his planes in my room and before i came here i stared at them. i saw all the wires and screws and glue and all the things my father touched and placed in a certain area for a certain reason. i laid my head against the slender frame and cried. i cried hard.
what triggered today was seeing those planes by the side of the road half way sticking out of a huge pile of forgotten disposables. immediate rage filled me and i slammed the door to my car as hard as i could. i threw my work things down one by one: my dr pepper, my cigarettes, my ipod, my pinch hitter, and two neon green lighters i had just purchased. they all hit the ground with such velocity it sent them flying in different directions and the dr pepper exploded on the right pant leg of my jeans.
i picked up my dads first plane. the first one he ever made and was so proud of. i remembered him showing it to me with his gleaming face and shaking hands. hands that had cuts all over them from the work and time he put into his project. i remembered him driving it outside in the parking lot to get use to the controls so he wouldnt crash it on his first go. the other plane wasnt as important to him but he ranted over how the symbols came out so perfectly.
i collected my things along with the planes and awkwardly carried them inside past my mother who was taking pictures of her salt water aquarium. i didnt reply to her askings of my day, i just retreated into my room with my arms full of memories and daily things. i was angry with her and with frank for doing that without asking me. i hadnt known they werent at my sisters house, that they were here in the shed and in their way.
i asked for the wings, they said they werent here. they asked what was wrong and i said with my back turning, "these are my father's planes."
i know they didnt mean to do anything disrespectful to my father or dishonor his creations in any way. he has more planes at my grandparents house, the biggest at most decorated ones. they hadnt known this one in particular that i was so upset over was his first plane. but i was so angry. so angry i didnt know what to do with myself and i feel bad for not coming across in a more composed manner. i wasnt yelling or screaming, the exact opposite actually, but i feel bad for thinking bad things towards them for it and allowing them to believe they had done something terribly wrong.
i apologized, they left to get my mother's prescription, and here i am now. my eyes are puffy and it's taking a great deal to keep myself from crying all over again. i have his planes in my room and before i came here i stared at them. i saw all the wires and screws and glue and all the things my father touched and placed in a certain area for a certain reason. i laid my head against the slender frame and cried. i cried hard.