GO SEE YOUR FATHER

“Your shirts upside down.”

“Whasat?” I replied as I counted change. I needed 28 cents to get a cup of coffee but her question threw off my count. The coffee wasn’t 28 cents but I needed that much more to round out the two dollar bills tucked in between my lips. I know I know, yuck and yes, I know how many germs are on money but my hands were otherwise too occupied with the loose change and cup of coffee to hold said bills.

“ Your shirt. The words are upside down.” she repeated. I looked down mostly I think because I thought she meant it was inside out. How can a shirt be upside down unless you’re holding it?

“Mmphsh” I said. I still had the bills in my mouth. I took ‘em out. “Sorry” I said sheepishly. “‘Ummm yes, it is’ is what I meant to say. Hard to talk with a mouth full of money.” She smiled. I set the cup on the counter and held out the $2.28, the bills still wet on the corners. She took the money and put it in the drawer as if she were handling newly minted tender and not my germ enhanced bills.

I drove away, sipping my morning joe, black, now remembering I never addressed the shirt for her. I thought about turning around to explain but that would be just weird, right? I was sorta on a late start and I’d see her again tomorrow anyway so decided to leave her hanging until then. Probably wouldn’t ruin her day.

Traffic was light, non existent if you must know but then it usually is at four in the morning and that’s why I get up this early. Why ruin a good start with traffic. I’m fortunate to have a job that can start early on occasion so I make the most of it. Early bird and worms and all. It’s a peaceful way to ease into your day and you get a lot of productive thinking done if you’ll let yourself. Today though, it wasn’t to the job I was going.

“You should go see your father” mom had said as we sat for coffee. Her house, her coffee, not the convenience store. I’d prefer the store. Mom makes the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted - barely brown (I take it black) and so weak it wouldn’t stain a white linen tablecloth if you spilled it. It’s the same brand, Maxwell House, that we had growing up with but whatever she’s doin’ to it nowadays, it’s awful.

“Yeah, Probably” I say. “I guess it’s been a while hasn’t it. Two years maybe." I take a sip. man. "Life’s just busy you know? Since he doesn’t live in town anymore (mom and dad, they’re...not divorced, just ‘not together’ anymore) I guess it’s sorta like ‘outa sight outa mind’. Buy yeah, I’ll go. Maybe in a week or two.”

It was more like a month or two. His place is a couple hours south, just north and east of Tampa. It’s a gated community, mostly for veterans, that seemed well taken care of last time I was there. I’m easily impressed by a well kept landscape.

It was good to have a two hour drive ahead of me and I needed the time to think about what to talk about. Dad, he’s rather on the quiet side, especially these days and it’s hard to get him engaged in a conversation that doesn’t feel stilted and strained. Really though it’s those awkward feeling silent spots in the convo that make me feel uncomfortable. That’s a my problem I’ve come to know. He’s comfortable with silence.

The gate was closed but they had a guard shack. There was a separate lane you could go through and not have to stop at the shack but I didn’t know (or remember) the code for the keypad so I stopped.

“Morning. Just here to see my dad” I say as he writes my plate number down on a clipboard. “You know where you’re going?”

“Yes sir. It’s been a while but I think I remember”

“What’s your dad's name? Maybe I know him. Point you in the right direction.” He tilts his head, like he’s pointing a direction. “ I don’t live here but I get around and get to know some of the fellas.”

“Jesse” I say. “I think he's up on Halder Lane.”

“Right right right” he says, digging in his memory bank. “Air Force guy right? Yep, Up on Halder . Tell your dad hi for me and thank him for his service.”

“Will do. Have a good day. Thanks again”

I drive the winding road, nodding and waving as appropriate to the folks I pass and arrive at dads place. There’s no parking at these places, rather, a common lot at the end of the street. Some are parked in the grass but that seems disrespectful to the landscape somehow so I park in the lot and walk. It gives me a last minute or two to gather my thoughts about what I want to say, to talk about. Mostly I just want to say thanks. And I love you. And I’m sorry. For not coming to visit more and a whole bunch of other little things flood my mind. Yeah. I should come more often. But I don’t, and I’m not sure why. It’s just hard I guess. These visits leave me sad and a bit empty but I'm told that that’s just how it often is, here at the Florida Veterans Memorial Cemetery...