Pictures of Childhood Final Part

(I know I've written a lot of these. And I know they deal with sensitive material. It has helped me to write about my childhood memories. I have not had the intentions to slander anyone close to me, just deal with personal demons. I've decided to compile these short pieces into a brief collection that I'd like to self-publish. I've been playing with book covers again... But this is the final installment. Thanks so much.)

My daddy is so handsome. He does karate and plays the guitar. One day, he just leaves. Never comes back. I’m playing with my Barbies outside. Where did my daddy go? I think to myself. But he’s gone. He must not love me anymore, I silently guess.

*

At ten, I’m in love with ghosts and poltergeists. Check out every book in the library on the subjects. I write messages on tennis balls and throw them in the closet. Play Bloody Mary and light as a feather stiff as a board with my friends. Turn around, hoping to see a white, livid face in the mirror. But only my reflection looks back at me. Pray to hear a voice emerge from the shadows. But there is only silence.

*

Sometimes my dad picks me up for visitations. We go driving in his sports car while he drinks liquor from a plastic cup. My dad loves women. He’s always talking about them. Says he’s a sex addict. He describes them, and other things, in detail, and sometimes, I feel uncomfortable and embarrassed. Strangely jealous. He’s also extremely religious and talks about Jesus a lot. Sometimes, I’m even jealous of Jesus. One night, my dad takes me and my girl friend for a ride. Her name is Janice. She’s pretty, and a little flirty. Later she tells me my dad touched her. But she didn’t mind, she liked him. He was cute, after all.

*

My dad takes me to the movies. He asks what film I want to see. I say Clue, though I’ve already seen it. I want my dad to see it. Want to share it with him. We take our drinks and popcorn into the theater. It’s a weeknight, so we’re the only ones there. The movie starts. I’m excited and happy. At some point, I look over to my dad. The look on his face arrests me. He’s not paying attention. He looks bored and miserable. So detached, as if he’s not there but somewhere else. I never forget that look.