Outcast

5.0

June 28, 1992 9:16 am

I APPLY PINK LIPSTICK AND ADMIRE my reflection in the mirror. I had recently started wearing makeup and styling my hair in different ways. I don't know what exactly initiated this sudden change, but I like the way I look with pink lips, and a little blush and/or eyeshadow from time to time. It hadn't become an everyday thing, but today's occasion is me, going to see Dean. He said he would take me somewhere, without really specifying a location, but I still agreed to go with him. I pick out a pastel blue dress and white sandals. It is nothing special and it's nothing in comparison with what all of the other girls would wear but it's really all I have. Honestly I don't even think Dean cares how I am dressed or if my lips are pink or not, we've been dating for only a few weeks and he knows I don't have a lot to give, unlike all the other girls and somehow it still seems to be more than enough to him.

As I walk down the stairs and wait for Dean to stop in front of my house and pick me up, I see my dad sitting in the living room, where I expect to see books and newspapers scattered around the coffee table, empty bottles of liquor and stains on the carpet and couch, but instead to my surprise, the magazines and books are in a neat pile next to the TV which iss showing an episode of some sitcom, at a reasonable volume. The bottles are not present and my dad is sitting contently at the table drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, and most importantly he looks presentable. I stare in awe, wondering what kind of event or force on Earth could have gotten him to look and act like a decent person for once.

My dad looks up from his newspaper, and tells me to sit by him.

"Why?" I ask.

"I just want to talk to you about something." He simply replies. The tone of anger and irritation that was usually present when he spoke, was replaced with a sense of calmness and kindness. I slowly approach him and sit down on the couch, waiting for him to start talking.

"I wanted to profusely apologize about-" He began, but I just scoffed and rolled my eyes. I'm not about to listen to his pathetic apologies for the 100th time, when both of us know that he will do the same thing over and over again.

"I don't want your apologies." I say as smooth out the skirt of my dress, and get up.

"I've heard it a million times. Tell me something I haven't heard before."

"Listen, I know I always say I'll quit and I relapse but this time I really am making an effort to change. Look, I've even started going to support groups." He says, trying to get me to accept his meaningless apology. I turn around and raise my voice, "Dad! I don't care. Did it ever occur to you that while you were sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, never letting yourself get over mom's death, Felix and I got over it. We picked ourselves up out of bed every morning even when there seemed to be no point. He cooked me meals, tucked me in at night, and checked my homework. He gave me the love that I needed from my father at the time. We took care of each other, raised ourselves on our own, and grew up thinking we were unloved. So you can take your apologies and shove them-"

"What's done is done. I can't change the past. But I'm apologizing now, and trying to make up for it by changing. It's better late than never. So I'm sorry. For the last. Time. I'm sorry." He says looking down at his lap. I don't speak and just walk into the kitchen. He stands up and follows me. I open a cabinet and take out a green ceramic plate. I hand it to him and say, "Take this plate." He looks at it, and hesitantly takes it in his hands, looking down at at it with a puzzled expression on his face. "Now break it." I command.

"No, it's-"

"Just do it. Smash it!" I yell. beginning to get agitated.

He looks at me, and throws the plate at the white tiled kitchen floor. The impact it makes when it hits the ground, causes it to shatter into hundreds of tiny green shards. He looks at up at me cluelessly, trying to figure out what I am insinuating with this metaphor.