Image via Wikipedia
My father has a freeway named after him. I’d rather have my dad.
Guys don’t really talk like girls about it, but when I stood in the graveyard it just, well, was hard to tell him. And I needed to. I needed to tell someone. Someone who wouldn’t tell anyone else. But, it felt like all the dead people were listening. And the worst part was, Dad was buried next to Grandma.
“What’s taking so long?” Hector yelled, still sitting on his bike, waiting for me, with all the understanding of someone who couldn’t wait two seconds for his friend to run into 7-11 for a coke.
Dad’s at the corner of Serenity Way and Heavenly Drive just up a grassy hill, beside an oak tree. I didn’t like him being so close to the oak tree. It had already messed with some of the tombstones five graves over. I didn’t think Dad believed in Heaven. He believed in rules. Well, the law mostly, and the law is sort of like the Olympics of rules. But there were other rules that were way more important when I was growing up. Like The Cut-Off, when I couldn’t talk on the phone after 10. And how he made me and my sister check-in all our “devices” until morning so we wouldn’t get into any “shennanigans.” He was hard core. And made what happened to Alyssa and me nearly impossible, until this year.
“Fabian!” Hector, yelled.
“Just freaking ride around the block or something,” I yelled back.
“Aren’t you done yet?” Hector looked down the road and didn’t budge. “How long does it take to tell him your not half a virgin anymore?”
Now the whole graveyard knew.
© Laura Elliott, 2011
0 Comments on Answer: Awkward Moment as of 1/1/1900