I don’t want to talk about this

My New Year’s three day weekend turned much less enjoyable Monday afternoon when my aunt asked me out to coffee so she could tell me my father was in town and ask why I told him to fuck off last time he sent me an email. It wasn’t a complete surprise. I knew sooner or later I’d have to talk to her about it, because we’ve always gotten along pretty well and eventually she would want to know why I’m pissed off at her brother.

It went as well as it could, I think, but there’s really a limit to what I’m willing to say to my aunt on the subject, let alone in a public coffee shop. Given that it’s most of a week later and I’m still feeling pretty crappy about the whole thing, I’m starting to reconsider. If I got both of them in the same room together, I could try something like, “I realize I was only four years old at the time and my memory of things that long ago is hazy, but I’m fairly certain there was a good reason I was terrified to be in my bedroom at night after he left”, and “I’ll stay for dinner only if I’m allowed to kick him in the teeth first”.

The thing I hate most right now is that last time I talked to him in person, during college, I realized that I’m taller than him if I wear heels and I could probably kick his ass, and also that he’s a really pathetic guy. Which makes me even angrier that the thought of bumping into him unexpected on a street corner still makes me queasy. On my way into work the other morning, trying to wake up, I got into the elevator with one of the lawyers who works upstairs and half expected him to start asking me all the same things my aunt did. “Why won’t you talk to your father? Don’t you know how hurt he is by this?”

I think in another week or so I’ll have shaken off this residue. It’s kind of like trying to get rid of a fever. Just have to wait it out.

One response to “I don’t want to talk about this

  1. Bleargh. Sympathy.