Call Him

1

"You're not my son,"

Tears stung my eyes the moment my father finished his sentence. His reaction left me stunned, and I didn't prepare myself for it.

Why in the world did I think it was okay to finally tell him the truth?

I stood in the middle of the hallway, desperately searching for the right words to say. I wanted to at least part well, tell my dad I still love him, or ask for his forgiveness. I don't know. Do tell me... in this situation, what is the right thing to say?

I really don't know.

The sound of the door unlocking broke me free from my thoughts, and my father stood by the entrance, eyes avoiding my gaze.

"Get out," he softly said.

"Dad-"

"DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?! GET OUT!" he finally thundered.

I heard you clearly, Dad. I just wish I didn't.

"LEAVE!" he yelled again, this time, stomping his foot for emphasis.

My legs reluctantly moved, and I clutched on my satchel bag for security as I painfully made my way towards the door. The moment I approached him, my shivering intensified. Each step growing weaker and weaker while the spray of the cold winter gust hit my face stronger.

"I love you and I'm sorry," I quietly told him before walking out of our home. Or is it still appropriate to call it that?

My feet left exactly five footsteps in the snow, and I turned back one last time, hoping... desperately hoping that he would change his mind. Call my name. Say that he was just kidding, and that it was just one of his corny dad jokes and I fell victim to his trap.

But he didn't. He slammed the door and turned off the lights.

I stood there for what felt like hours, and he never came out.

For the first time in my entire life, my dad literally left me in the dark... sad, confused, and uncertain with what lies ahead.

I dusted the snow that amassed on my head and shoulders, surprised at the amount that enveloped my body... but I was too numb to feel anything.

I looked at the house one last time, memorizing the view of the bungalow that housed me for years. It survived a lot of things, most especially hurricane Katrina. Dad often pointed out that I'll inherit it when the time comes, and I would joyfully express my interest, because it was a cool house. It's not exactly big, but I loved every moment I lived here.

Now that I'm disowned... Well it massively changes things.

My eyes hovered to the large tree that stood beside the house. On it was a faded blue treehouse my dad and I made together.

Nostalgia kicked within me the moment I realized that that's where my dad and I spent most of my childhood. We worked tirelessly on this project, and he allowed me to design the whole thing. From the sea-colored roof shingles to the pirate ship planks, my dad turned my fantasy into a reality. I've always wanted to be the captain of my own ship, but we had no money to afford an actual boat no matter how much of a good boy I was.

This structure, truthfully, was a great compromise.

The wind blew gently on the dangling wooden plank that hung on the raft-like foundation. Painted on it was his careful calligraphy that said:

FOR MY ONLY SON

I smiled to myself, finally letting my tears roll down my cheeks, leaving warm streaks that comforted my cold, shivering self somehow.

For few minutes, I stared at the sign that threatened to hit my face each time the gust passed by. Come to think of it, I used to look up to it everyday. Now I'm tall enough to see it on my eye level.

Is it strange to kiss a dirty sign goodbye? I didn't care. My lips froze the moment it touched the wood. I had to let the sign know that I loved it so much and I was sorry I took it for granted because I thought it would just stay there and dance with the wind forever.

Then, after one last wistful look, I gently took it down.