Dodge Reid

A Visit

“Hey, baby.”

“Hi,” I reply, trying on a smile as I take a seat across from Dad.

“Tell me about your day. How’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

“Come on, no one word answers.”

“Got a B on my history test,” I say, leaning back in the plastic chair and not looking at him.

“Why didn’t you get an A? You’re a smart girl. You should’ve gotten an A.”

I shrug. It’s best not to argue with Dad when he’s in parenting mode.

“Sit up straight,” he says. “You should be tall, like your old man, not hunched over like Grandma.”

I obey, resting my elbows on the table. “What’ve you been doing?”

“Not much, just reading mostly,” he says. “I’ve been talking to our lawyers. They think I’ve got a real good shot.”

“That’s good.”

“It’s better than good.”

I look up to meet his eyes. They seem dark in contrast to his pale skin, but bright with ideas. “You look good, Dad.”

He smiles, flexing an arm. “I’ve been lifting weights.”

For a while we don’t say much, at the point in the conversation where the words are hollow.

“Mom’s okay,” I say.

“Is she?”

“Yeah, she got a raise.”

“She still working at the hospital?”

“Yeah.”

“You found a job yet?”

“No.”

“You looking for one?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Graduation’s still two months away, I’ve got time.”

“You should start looking. Maybe you could work at the hospital.”

“Dad, don’t worry so much.” I look at my watch.

“Maybe I’ll make it to your graduation,” he says, his eyes even more alive.

“That would be nice. Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve gotta go.”

“I know, baby. I love you.”

“Love you too,” I say, hanging up the phone. For goodbye I kiss my fingers and press them against the glass.

Dodge Reid is a physical therapy intern, and when she's not learning new ways to torture patients she's writing. Other hobbies include surfing, bodyboarding, and pretty much anything involving water. You can write Dodge here.