What are we? (Frerard)

Things he'll never have

I swung open my front door to see my dad sitting on the couch with his nose buried deep in a newspaper. Strands of his thinning grey hair fell in his face as he read. He pulled it away to reveal his worn face. His expression contorted into a disgusted look before he muttered "Frank." To greet me. "You are quite thin, don't you eat?" He spike in almost a taunting way.

Before I could stop it a laugh escaped my lips. "Maybe if you actually took a penny out of your child welfare check to feed me I would." I snapped. He scoffed in the most uninteresting manner. Was he not mad at my disrespectful remark?

"Frank you're 17. Your perfectly capable of getting your own food." He pulled the newspaper back up. I hoped it was to hide shame. But it wasn't.

"Yeah? Well your perfectly capable of being my father, but yet here we are!" He said nothing. "You can't even take the action of disciplining me? What kind of dad are you?!" If I've learned anything about my father is that he's the most cold hearted, stoic old man there is. For example, at my moms funeral he didn't cry. He claims he loved her, but I know he feels nothing. I don't know why I was fuming. "If mom was here..." I stopped and took a breath in. "If mom was here, she'd hate you as much as I do-" I spat quietly as if my words were bullets being shot from a gun. He pursed his lips as he thought.

"If your mother was here..." He stood up slowly and neatly folded up the newspaper before gently setting it on the coffee table. He's so fucking calm and expressionless-no emotionless. "If your mother was here she'd hate the men we both have become." He sighed. "You aren't doing anything with your life Frank. If your gonna be here instead of her, do something useful." With that he walked out the front door.

I was greatly offended buy his words, but the more I thought of it he was right. The fact that he was right stung like a blade. Here I am picking a fight with my father who could care less about what shit I have to say about his parenting. A good sun would have said nothing, would have greeted him then walked away, or if anything he would have made small talk with his dad, be polite. I didn't and now I'm contemplating the thought that I let my mom down in some way. She worked so hard so see this family come together and thrive, even if she did leave. She always said it was for everyone's own good including my father.

I sat down on the couch right near to the newspaper. I continued to think. Mom would want me and dad to be a family again.

Before she got sick she'd tell me all these things about how our future is bright and how we'd go back to dad someday. If only I know it only be me coming back to dad and he wouldn't be much of a father at all. I honestly think she knew this was going to happen, she knew she was going to die. She filled my head with these ideas till the very day she died. I see now that her promises to our amazing future as a family was just a distraction from the unfolding chaos. Tragedy was hidden in plane sight my entire life, the moment she died was when I realized I was never going to have a family. If I wasn't such a gullible child I should have seen it. A good son would have seen it, but I didn't.

And now I'm alone.