What else do you say.

I used to ask him to read to me. Before I knew how to read for myself. Even after I knew how. He always read with a calm, low voice. It was comforting. It was distant. Safe. Mostly, I just wanted to hear his voice--the stories came second.

It's been years since I asked him to read to me. But that makes sense. I can read for myself. I don't hear the movie voices reading. I don't hear my fake voices reading. I don't even hear my own voice reading. I hear his. And I wish I was six years old, curled up on the couch again. Looking at the pictures. Looking at the bookmark. Watching the pages turn.

I don't know how many times I asked him to read Alice in Wonderland to me, but it was a lot. I wish he could read to me again.

I haven't heard from him in a couple of weeks now. It was different when he traveled to different states. We wouldn't hear from him because he was too busy. But it was just a matter of time before he'd call. He always called. I never worried.

I worry now, though. Now, there might be a reason I don't hear from him. I hope not.

I miss him.

Comments

Spen said…

Bro the way you love your dad is so awesome. I will be praying for him, and for Father God to provide for you there and be a refuge!

February 8, 2009 at 11:21 PM

Spen said…

PS - Felt like God wants to speak to you out of Psalm 91

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust."

Sweet! This is cool too:

"Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you." 2Peter 5:7

February 8, 2009 at 11:23 PM

No, Holmes, no!

All I ever think about these days is how much I have to/want to study. I hope that's not how I have a good time, now. Would I rather go hang out with peeps or would I rather sit in and study? It is a difficult question to answer. Just a couple more days and then I can focus all my energy on the next greatest idea I've ever had: iconic detectives and sharks.

Side effects include constant irritability, being an ass.

It was a typical day in MUS 307 . A typical day where nobody pays attention to anything the professor talks about. A day where people play shitty flash games instead of take notes. A day where people sit and refresh their Facebook newsfeed instead of follow the slides. A day where people roll their eyes and go to sleep instead of listen to the music examples. A day where people get up and leave ten minutes before lecture ends instead of having the God damn decency to stay the whole time and pretend to be interested. I mean, if you're going to be so unaffected by the music we're studying in class then why the fuck did you take the class in the first place? Fuck it makes me mad. And I haven't even started talking about that fucker who sits in the back and tries to whistle along with every song that gets played in class. Alright, dude, we get it: you are just too cool and you know everything about jazz, ever. You know every standard ever written and everybody's so...

I wonder, sometimes.

I am standing on the edge of a cliff face. A breeze whips past me as I stare out into the darkness. It's a familiar sight, comforting. The river bends below me. It stretches out, away from me at both ends. The arch of the bridge traverses the river, silhouetted by the house lights and golf course below us. So far away from us. The highway reaches out before us, straight into the hills and disappears on the horizon. It is silent. There are no cars. No planes. No animals. It is just us standing on top of the cliff. As it should be. It's late. A late weeknight. Just a normal Tuesday night to the world. I step away from the edge. In 5 minutes, I will be 22 years old. It's a turning point in my life. A fixed checkpoint. I'm only 21 years old, I'm not an actual adult yet. Maybe legally. But I'm still a child. I'm immature, I laugh at fart jokes. I laugh at everything. Why would I take anything seriously? 21 years old and we still have no responsibilities. We c...

everything is fine

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