Grounded after take off

I was immersed in a video game. 1.30 am. 2.30 am. 3 am. 4 am. I kept looking at the clock, because I was scared to see my dad the next day.

I wondered as I played what got into me all those months ago when I sent him that voice note saying that we needed to talk. Now that it was on the eve of that morning, I wondered what I would say. What I could say. How much I could say.

I heard the phone ringing but I didn't get out of bed to answer it.

The phone rang again. This time I was awake enough to wonder: how is it ringing? Before noon it's always on silent and there's only person who's allowed to make it through that focus and it's not him.

I walked over. It was 10.30 am and he was calling again. I picked up.

"Hey dad!" I said.

"I missed my flight," he said.

"Oh shit"

"I couldn't reach you," he said.

He was stressed. My first feeling was that it was like he was blaming me. He was clearly pissed at the airline.

"I won't get in until 1 am."

"Do you still want to come?" I asked him.

"It'd cost me too much to rebook," he said. (He's a psychologist and his partner is a psychiatrist and they own four homes.)

"It's not about the money," I said. "Do you still want to come?"

"Yes," he said.

"I'd love to see you," I said.

"I'm sorry I'm going to get in so late," he said.

"It's ok"

I paced around the house getting my things together but mostly just spoke to myself softly and picked up an item in each room and walked out the door to get a coffee.

Walking past the brownstones of bed-stuy, I passed a pair with shopping carts stuffing discounts into plastic bags and tossing them onto stoops.

I put my ear phones in and put a song on and cried. I thought about all of my friends, past and present, and realized that I had hid among them for too long.

It was time to stop running. And maybe that was on me to do first.