And To Him, She Was Art.

Chapter IV: Breakfast

I woke up saturday late, but it was normal, not because it was vacation or anything, but because I alway slept in on saturdays, and this saturday was no exception.

My head a bit dizzy, I went downstairs.

There I met my father, Wilbert Artshire.

He must've returned last night, but since I went to bed early, I must have missed him.

Anyway, there he sat, drinking his coffee and looking at me.

My father was a strong man, though now he has gotten fuller than his younger self.

He had brown eyes and a sharp little nose, just like mine, which of course made sense.

He was wearing his old dark blue bathrobe.

In his house, that bathrobe was like my father's second skin. You would rarely see him wearing anything else, despite the fact that when he was in the outside world, he always wore different suits.

He wasn't a sloth or anything, he always kept it clean, it was just that he felt comfortable in it.

He wasn't wearing his hat, but he never did wear his hat in the house, as opposed to the outside world, where his hair never touched sunlight.

Speaking of his hair, my father is beginning to go bald.

It's not that bad yet, in fact, I find it gives him character, but he worries about it, and I do too, but in another way, a more selfish way.

He worries about going completely bald, and that's the reason he wears his hat.

I worry because this might mean I'll go bald as well someday. See? Selfish.

"So your mother left, eh?" My father said in the most casual way.

"Yes, she did." I said . "Vincent fixed the car, and she left. She'll be back tomorrow."

"Oh yeah. She called me. Well, I'm glad to see you're responsible enough to keep the house intact and not throw a wild party or something."

I nodded. My head still felt heavy.

I walked to the refridgerator and poured myself a glass of orange juice. I then sat down on the chair facing my father.

As he drank his coffee and I my orange juice, we talked a bit.

Of school, of my paintings and Mr. Lindworn, and of the bookstore.

Then he asked about Aries, and I remembered why my head was hurting.

I had a dream about me and Mrs. Aries doing some not so innocent things, and Aries walking in on us. Oh God.

I blocked the thought and told my father that Aries was doing good, and I also told him about the party that would take place tonight.

He listened silently and made no comments.

And that made me happy. My father was that person that could listen for hours and not ask one single question.

When I was done talking, he said that he was hungry, and told me to go take a shower, and we'd go get some breakfast.

I nodded, went upstairs, and took a shower.

After taking a shower and getting dressed, I went back downstairs where my dad sat at the table once more, waiting for me.

He was wearing a grey suit and his hat, and he had a toothpick in his mouth.

"Let's go then." He said, and stood up.

We left the house and entered the car.

After a short and silent drive, safe from the radio, which my father always had set on a station that played all and only songs from the eighties, including Aerosmith, Twisted Sister and Simple Minds, he parked the car in front of a local breakfast and lunch place called "The Liar's Hand".