A Tribute For Tia

Chapter 6

"Hey, son?"

"What do you want, Dad?" I called towards my door, not turning around. My guitar was clutched in my hand and I had chosen not to face the door, but obviously my father didn't get the hint that I wasn't in the mood to talk with him, because he stepped inside my room and closed the door behind him.

"I just wanted to talk." I could hear the smile in his voice, but I knew it was fake. I turned to watch him as he sat down on my bed, cradling a glass of wine in his left hand.

"Ah, red wine. Classier than your normal.. you know, vodka."

"I drink when I can, which is hardly ever. You'll understand when you're older."

"Whatever. Just, would you stop being drunk in front of Tia? I don't want her getting the wrong ideas, you know?"

My father nodded after a quick moment. "You're a good brother, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know." I hoped he didn't want me to say he was a good father, because I knew he wasn't.

"Yeah." The conversation died off soon after that, neither willing to start it again. After a few minutes, my father glanced over at where I had placed my guitar, sprawled across my bed.

"You still playing that thing?" he asked, running his hand across the scratched wood. I plucked it up and away from him.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know. I guess I just thought you only played it for a year or so, then forgot about it."

"Yeah, because after a year it was about the time you forgot about me."

"Forgot about you?" he asked, glaring daggers at me. "I never forgot about you!"

"You and mum did, both of you. Forgot about both me and Tia. You went off to your jobs, made more business friends, and forgot you had children. When was the last time mum made our dinner? Probably... five years ago?"

"Because we're both very-"

"Busy, I know." I shook my head, then placed the guitar over my lap, as if to play. I was actually just holding it because I found some comfort, if any, in the smooth wood and strings that felt like extensions of my fingers. But, my father took it as if I was going to play something.

"Oh, play me a song!" he smiled, taking a sip of his drink. I sighed, then ran a hand over the strings to check if it was in tune. I really was not in the mood for entertaining my father but I was too frightened of the flurry of punches that would be coming my way if I didn't, so I began to play the same song I had played to Tia on many occasions.

"This is really nice." He said after a minute's silence, bobbing his head softly. I seriously doubted he was actually listening, because soon enough he was standing and singing along; but the song had no words. I stopped playing, placed my guitar back on the covers and waited until he realised I had stopped.

"Why'd you stop?"

"Because you're drunk." I said, standing and holding my arms up in a calming manner. "And you need to go sleep it off. You have work in the morning."

"No, Alistair, keep playing."

"Go and sleep the alcohol off, dad. Then you'll be able to wake up in the morning and go to work. Sober. Okay?"

"Fine, son." He was a little unsteady on his feet, so I followed him down the hall until he was clear of any hardwood floor. I was about to say goodbye to him, for fear of not seeing him for the next week, but I stood still and watched him walk over to where he had hung his suit jacket, pull out his wallet, then step –slightly shakily- over to me.

"What are you doing?"

"Here, take this." He frowned as he pulled a wad of bills out and passed them to me. "Buy a new guitar."

"Oh." It was a small noise, and I was glad that my father walked away because I had nothing to say to him. So instead of saying thank you like I should have, I grabbed my phone and called Maya.

The next morning was when I found Tia.