| Thunder Sandwich #17
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 dweeb by jeff filipski |
| The seat of my arms is the heat from a cooling balcony rail. He stands
beside me, the man I remember from childhood. "Daddy," I say, "I'm a queer. A gay girl. Can you live with that?" And he sucks in more of his cigarette, reaches for more wine. "I can live with that. Does your mother know?" "Mothers always know." "Well, then I can live with that." Two months later we're back at the balcony, this time with my new boyfriend. Dad's breathing more nicotine than he is oxygen, and his breath still smells like fruitcake in vodka. I start it. "Daddy, it turns out I'm really bi. See? This is the man I'm with right now." He takes the boy's hand, does something like a pull, and lets go. No greetings. So I light up another cigarette for my Dad, and lean my head against my boyfriend's shoulder. "Daddy, I'm pregnant too, but I don't think we can raise this baby right. We're thinking about abortion. I want your opinion first." Dad looks at me, and he looks at the boy next to me. He doesn't look surprised. "You really want that?" We both answer him, "Yeah." "Does your mom know about what you're doing?" "Sure she does." "Then you do whatever you think is right." Anyway, I wished I had a father like that. You see, my dad doesn't smoke. He keeps a dry house. He won't let me out of the house alone. And he never listens to mom. Now we're stuck out on the balcony, quiet like shot monkeys. I can't open my mouth. He doesn't know what to say. But just once, I'd like to hear him say he agrees with me. |
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| ISSN: 1534-4037 |
Edited by Jim Chandler & Haze McElhenny
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