I just like that someone is thinking of how I was treated. And cares to stake claim to my well-being.
five
. . .
i just like that someone is thinking of how i was treated. and cares to stake claim to my well-being.
The red cedar rolls into a perfect spiral as I twist the pencil in the sharpener. With a crisp sheet of paper in front of me, I adjust my grip and begin writing. I start every single letter with those same two words.
Dear Dad.
I take a second to think about what I’m going to say today. I’m usually pretty detailed, but this morning I’m struggling to write.
It’s the first time in years that I’ve really just… not wanted to write to him.
But I promised myself that I would do this, and I promised my therapist, too.
This is how I’m working through the trauma of abandonment.
And sure, I left them, but… they abandoned me my entire life.
I’ll tell you something about being abandoned by your family: it hurts way worse when you’re living under the same roof as them the entire time.
Forcing me into a life I didn’t want; I had to leave. I may have physically left, but it wasn’t a choice. Not really.
I find the energy to write, knowing I’d probably regret it if I didn’t.
I drop a line beneath the greeting and begin.
Salsa threw up his new food again. I think it could be the wheat, or at least that’s what the vet told me to try next– gluten-free cat food.
You’d think it was crazy. You’d think it was crazy to buy cat food in the first place; I know you would.
But that’s what it’s like on the other side.
It’s crazy in comparison to how you live.
I like it, though, Dad.
Anyway, no point in going there again.
I’m going to start training Delane at the shop.
She wants to become a mechanic. I have no doubt she will.
She’ll probably be better than me. She’s so smart and quick with her words in a way that makes me nervous, though I guess I’ve said that already.
I’m looking forward to training her. I’m nervous, too, and that’s another thing I’m allowed to be.
Nervous .
No one is telling me I’m less of a man for it.
Well, I’m not in a great mood this morning, so I’m going to end this one right here.
I hope you’re well, Dad. And I hope everyone there in the house is well, too.
Your son,
Miller
Folding the bottom third up and then the top third down, I slide it into an envelope, scribble his name across the front and seal it.
Next to my keys and wallet is a banker’s box.
Lifting the lid, I drop the letter inside and am met with the familiar crushing of paper as it swims into a sea of letters.
I put the lid on and start on making two lunches.
When my nylon bag is packed, and the paper sack next to it is full with a lunch identical to mine, I get in my truck and head out. I don’t start work for another twenty-five minutes, and I planned it that way. A couple of days a week, I leave early and head to Zeth’s house.
I’m idling out front for less than a minute before he appears in the doorway, wrapped in a puffy blue winter coat, a gray marled beanie, and heather gray sweats with brown boots on his feet.
He jogs to my truck, but because he’s bundled in clothes way too big for him, it’s more of a waddle than anything.
His breath hangs between us in a white cloud for a moment before he slams the door closed, outstretching his fingers in front of the heater vent. “Mornin’,” he yawns, a shiver running through him as he does.
“Morning. How you doing this week?” I ask because I haven’t seen him since last Wednesday when his mom went out of town and took him with her.
He nods, wiggling his fingers to warm them up. They look white and the beds are bluish. “The heat working?” I ask, nodding toward his house. He shakes his head, but I knew the answer just by looking at his fingers.
“I’ll bring a space heater by tonight, okay?” I don’t like how cold he looks. I reach between us to the center console and hand him the lunch I packed for him. “Here, I know the lunch card runs out this week, right?”
He nods and takes the bag. “Thanks, Miller.” He peers inside, eyes wide. “Two sandwiches?!” He drops the bag to the floorboard and gives me a hug over the console. A hug because I packed him two sandwiches. If that doesn’t make your heart hurt, you aren’t human.
“One for dinner later if mom’s short on her card this month.”
He shakes his head. “We’re good. She bought a case of mac ’n’ cheese, so I’ve had a big bowl of that every single night for two weeks.” I’m glad he has, but inside, I ache a little for him that eating Easy Mac is his big victory.
“Good,” I nod because I am glad he’s eating dinner. Sometimes they don’t, and I hate that. His mom is hard-working and prideful, and the only reason she’s letting me help them this much is because of the Big Brother program.
I met Zeth at the grocery store six months ago when he was counting change to buy a gallon of milk and turned up a quarter short.
His clothes were oversized and dirty, but his hair and teeth were clean.
I paid for his milk and walked him out to his bike.
He wanted to pay me back the quarter and asked where he could find me.
He saw my shirt, and sure enough, a week later, his mom drove him to the Wrench Kings to deliver me a quarter .
Then I offered to help. She said no. Atticus told me I could be a Big Brother and suggested the program reach out to Zeth and his mom.
I did, they did, and here we are. Six months into a sponsored Big Brother friendship.
We just hang out. He talks to me, and I listen because if there’s anyone that knows the value of feeling heard, it’s me.
So I listen to everything he has to say.
Under the guise of learning a new skill, I took him out and bought him everything it takes to make grilled cheese.
That included a toaster and all the food fixings.
I’ve slowly been trying to get them things here and there, but every once in a while, I’ll overstep, and Zeth’s mom Amy will make him give it back.
It’s a fine line I’m walking, but I’ll gladly take an earful from Amy if it means they have just a little bit more comfort in their lives that they don’t have to agonize over.
I don’t make a ton of money–my ex helped me remember that–but I don’t do too bad either.
And as a single guy who owns his own truck and has a place of his own, I don’t have many expenses.
I want to help Zeth. He’s a good kid and just twelve years old; he shouldn’t know these struggles. It’s unfair anyone has to.
“I gotta go, though. Mom’s battery is dead, so I’m walking.”
I look up the street to the powder-coated sidewalks and dreary gray sky. The school is just a few blocks up, fortunately.
“Get your stuff. I’ll wait and drive you.
” I nod to the backseat of my truck, where there’s a folded-up Wrench Kings hoodie, a Wrench Kings beanie, and a pair of fleece gloves.
“Go put that stuff on, and don’t argue,” I say sternly.
He hides his smile as he grabs the things and scurries to the front door.
I always keep a spare set of clothes in my truck for him.
Trying to slowly build up his wardrobe and I bring it all from my closet so he has room to grow and so Amy doesn’t gripe at me for buying him new things.
I drop him off down the block a few minutes later but not before telling him I’m going to stop by later this week, bring his mom a new car battery, and replace it. Then, knowing he’s warm and won’t be hungry, I head to work feeling a lot steadier than I did earlier this morning.
“Morning, Beau,” I greet my boss cheerily, raising my tumbler of coffee to him as he enters the shop.
“Good morning, Miller. There’s a woman out front waiting for you,” he says, slapping me on the back as he passes behind me to the desk.
Putting his things away, I stare at him as I wonder who in the world would be here to see me.
Amy’s at work, and she waved us off after Zeth got in the truck before school, so it can’t be her.
Beau sees my confusion and grins. “You better hurry before Delane eats her alive.”
Now I’m really confused, but at the mention of Delane, I head up front. Standing in the lobby wearing some workout type of unitard thing is the blonde woman from yesterday. Confused, my hand falls across my chest as I approach her.
“I sure hope your vehicle isn’t acting up,” I say as I approach. Without her dog today, she stands with her hands behind her back, head tipped to the side. She’s wearing a flirtatious smile that is nearly patronizing after she rejected me yesterday.
“Hi, well, there’s kind of a noise.” She chews her lower lip in a way that begs for me to look, almost like she’s trying to torture me.
But no, she wouldn’t do that, that would just be cruel, and I don’t want to believe there are women out there that use their beauty to torture men beneath their station.
“What kind?”
She brings her hands in front of her and links her fingers together as if she’s about to explain something but doesn’t get the chance.
“Miller has a customer waiting. You’ll have to wait and talk to Atticus in ten minutes. He’s another mechanic here; he’s familiar with your vehicle. He was there for the repairs yesterday.”
Not much of that is true, aside from the fact that Atti does know everything about most cars, so he probably is familiar and could definitely find the source of the ghost rattle. But now I’m stumped as to why Delane’s so eager for this woman to leave.
She refuses to look at me as she stares down the blonde from her perch behind the counter. “Feel free to enjoy the complimentary coffee and have a seat. Atticus will be out shortly.” Finally, her dark gaze cuts over to me. “Miller, you have a vehicle in bay 3.”