Dad: what made you leave?
Send me ‘Dad’ and a question and my character’s Dad will answer it.
there’s a shift of weight from foot to foot, hand grasping at his baggy shirt to wave it out as if trying to get some air. he can’t help but clear his throat at the question that he’d been avoiding for the past twenty five years came to light. “listen, kid. i’m not the best parent - god, willing i’m not even a good fuckin’ person.” was there a hint of regret behind his tone? guilt perhaps? it was hard to say. “some people aren’t meant to have kids. it was a mistake, he was a mistake. we were both young, she was eighteen - i was twenty. fuck, i don’t even remember getting her fucking pregnant, i was that fucked up. i’d had my run ins with the law, you name a drug and i’ve probably fucking done it. i didn’t want her to have it, nah, fuckin’ told her to get get rid of it before it became a problem but you know how woman can be. you know, sensitive. gotta save the baby.”
his hands rose as if to mock his ex girlfriend – if you could even call her that. perhaps a fling was the best sense to describe her. “i don’t know what happened to the kid, don’t know if it’s even worth knowing. the fuck would i say to him now - twenty five years later? i left because it was easy. because i had to.”
