Blah, Blah, Blah
Then it came to me.
“What was it made out of?” I ask him.
“Excuse me?” he replies, incredulous as if I’d have told him I was human.
“You heard me.”
“We can never dis—”
“You can never disclose the blah, blah, blah. I’m your daughter! You’ve seen what I’ve been through, what I’ve kept, what I can do! You’d think I might be able to be trusted by my own father!” I felt the tears come back, burning in my eyes. But I kept them back. Angry and betrayed as I was, I kept them back. Tears were a sign of weakness, and if I was anything, I wasn’t weak. Unable to control anything but crying, I burst into laughter. I couldn’t stop. Tears came rolling down my cheeks, and my sides hurt. I grabbed the chair and stopped.
“Okay,” he said, as I got a pen and paper. “I’ll tell you.”