to be determined [A FORMER WATTPAD FEATURED STORY]

THIRTY - FOUR

"What is there to discover about me? What is there to discover that I don't already know?" I ask again.

The room paints a picture. I look up to my father and embrace the silence that encases our table.

Then there is a short breath and a splurge of words that I could only describe as heavy, like a weight beginning to lift from his broad shoulders.

"You were homeless," he says, "after you ran away . . . you became homeless."

I look up at him, pursed lips and tired lids.

"And . . . and you called me from a pay phone once, drunk off your ass, and told me to go to hell. And you know, I wanted to. I did that to you. I made you an alcoholic nobody. You had nowhere to go, and that was my fault."

It's then that my father breaks down at the dining hall table. It's a Tuesday, the stench of spaghetti and breadsticks lingering in the air.

His voice quietly drawls out, "I'm sorry, I need a minute."

I continue to look at him as he stumbles out of the room, rubbing away at his eyes.

I don't utter a word.