I was nervous about reuniting with my dad. He could be distant. Twenty seven yearsof being the only window wiper in Switchblade had forced him to distance himself from others door at least a windowpane. I recall my mom breaking down crying on the sofa after one of their rows and him just watching her stoically, right outside the window, wiping in powerful, circular motions.
When I saw him waiting for me outside the terminal, I walked toward him shyly, tripping over a toddler and soaring into a keychain display. Embarrassed, I straightened up and fell down the escalator, somersaulting over the roller luggage inconsiderately placed on the left side. I get my lack of coordination from my dad, who always used to push me down when I was learning how to walk.
"Are u all right?" my dad laughed, steadying me as I got off. "That's my clumsy old Belle!" he added, pointing to another girl.
"It's me! I'm your Belle," I cried, covering my face with my hair like I normally wear it.
"Oh! Hello! It's good to see you, Belle." He gave me a firm, gripping hug.
"It's good to see you, too, dad." How strange it felt to use that moniker. At home pagina in Phoenix, I called him Jim and my mom called him Dad.
"You've grown so big-I didn't recognize u without the umbilibal cord, I suppose."
Had it really been that long? Had I really not seen my dad since I was thirteen and going through my pet umbilical cord phase? I realized we had a lot of catching up to do.
I hadn't brought all my clothes from Phoenix, so I only had twelve bags. My dad and I took them in shifts to his Viper.
"Before u start making jabs about me being divorced, middle aged, and going through a midlife crisis," he zei as we put on our zitplaats, stoel belts, ankle straps, and helmets, "allow me to explain that I need a very aerodynamic car as a window wiper. My customers are judgmental people, if I don't drag race to those windows, they're going to vraag whether I'm the right kind of guy to hang off of their roofs. Push that button, hon, it raises the giant snake head."
I hoped he wasn't thinking of driving me to school in that car. Every other kid probably rode a donkey.
"I got u your own car," my dad said, after I counted down and zei "blast off!" He started the car after turning the key in the ignition several times.
"What kind of car?" My dad really loved me, so I was pretty sure it was an airplane car.
"A truck car. A U-HAUL, to be exact. I got it pretty cheap. Free, to be exact."
"Where did u get it from?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't say the dump.
"The street"
Phew. "Who sold it to you?"
"Don't worry about it. It's a gift."
I couldn't believe it. A huge truck to store all of the bottle badges I've always wanted to start collecting.
I turned my attention to the window, which was reflecting a flushed, pleased expression. Beyond that the rain poured hard on the green town. In Phoenix, the only green things are traffic lights and alien flesh. Here, nature was green.
The house was a two story Tudor, cream with chocolate timbering, like a miniature eclair that makes u fat for days. It was almost completely blocked from view door my truck, which had a large graphic on the side of a lumberjack sawing a tree, with "U-HAUL" written above.
"The truck is beautiful." I breathed. I exhaled. Then I breathed again. "Beautiful."
"I'm glad u like it, beacause it's all yours."
I looked at my huge, unwieldy truck and pictured it in the school parking lot surrounded door flashy sports cars. Then I pictured it eating those other cars. I could not stop smiling.
I knew my dad would insist on carrying my twelve bags into the house all door himself, so I ran ahead to my room. It looked familiar. Four walls and a ceiling, just like my old room in Phoenix! Leave it to my dad to find little ways to make me feel at home.
One nice thing about my dad is, as an old person, his hearing isn't too great. So when I closed the door to my room, unpacked, cried uncontrollably, slammed the door, and threw my clothes around my room in a fit of dejected rage, he didn't notice. It was a relief to let some of my steam out, but I wasn't ready to let all of it out yet. That would come later, when my dad was asleep and I was lying awake thinking about how ordinary kids my age are. If only one of them were extraordinary, then I'd be rid of this insomnia.
When I saw him waiting for me outside the terminal, I walked toward him shyly, tripping over a toddler and soaring into a keychain display. Embarrassed, I straightened up and fell down the escalator, somersaulting over the roller luggage inconsiderately placed on the left side. I get my lack of coordination from my dad, who always used to push me down when I was learning how to walk.
"Are u all right?" my dad laughed, steadying me as I got off. "That's my clumsy old Belle!" he added, pointing to another girl.
"It's me! I'm your Belle," I cried, covering my face with my hair like I normally wear it.
"Oh! Hello! It's good to see you, Belle." He gave me a firm, gripping hug.
"It's good to see you, too, dad." How strange it felt to use that moniker. At home pagina in Phoenix, I called him Jim and my mom called him Dad.
"You've grown so big-I didn't recognize u without the umbilibal cord, I suppose."
Had it really been that long? Had I really not seen my dad since I was thirteen and going through my pet umbilical cord phase? I realized we had a lot of catching up to do.
I hadn't brought all my clothes from Phoenix, so I only had twelve bags. My dad and I took them in shifts to his Viper.
"Before u start making jabs about me being divorced, middle aged, and going through a midlife crisis," he zei as we put on our zitplaats, stoel belts, ankle straps, and helmets, "allow me to explain that I need a very aerodynamic car as a window wiper. My customers are judgmental people, if I don't drag race to those windows, they're going to vraag whether I'm the right kind of guy to hang off of their roofs. Push that button, hon, it raises the giant snake head."
I hoped he wasn't thinking of driving me to school in that car. Every other kid probably rode a donkey.
"I got u your own car," my dad said, after I counted down and zei "blast off!" He started the car after turning the key in the ignition several times.
"What kind of car?" My dad really loved me, so I was pretty sure it was an airplane car.
"A truck car. A U-HAUL, to be exact. I got it pretty cheap. Free, to be exact."
"Where did u get it from?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't say the dump.
"The street"
Phew. "Who sold it to you?"
"Don't worry about it. It's a gift."
I couldn't believe it. A huge truck to store all of the bottle badges I've always wanted to start collecting.
I turned my attention to the window, which was reflecting a flushed, pleased expression. Beyond that the rain poured hard on the green town. In Phoenix, the only green things are traffic lights and alien flesh. Here, nature was green.
The house was a two story Tudor, cream with chocolate timbering, like a miniature eclair that makes u fat for days. It was almost completely blocked from view door my truck, which had a large graphic on the side of a lumberjack sawing a tree, with "U-HAUL" written above.
"The truck is beautiful." I breathed. I exhaled. Then I breathed again. "Beautiful."
"I'm glad u like it, beacause it's all yours."
I looked at my huge, unwieldy truck and pictured it in the school parking lot surrounded door flashy sports cars. Then I pictured it eating those other cars. I could not stop smiling.
I knew my dad would insist on carrying my twelve bags into the house all door himself, so I ran ahead to my room. It looked familiar. Four walls and a ceiling, just like my old room in Phoenix! Leave it to my dad to find little ways to make me feel at home.
One nice thing about my dad is, as an old person, his hearing isn't too great. So when I closed the door to my room, unpacked, cried uncontrollably, slammed the door, and threw my clothes around my room in a fit of dejected rage, he didn't notice. It was a relief to let some of my steam out, but I wasn't ready to let all of it out yet. That would come later, when my dad was asleep and I was lying awake thinking about how ordinary kids my age are. If only one of them were extraordinary, then I'd be rid of this insomnia.
