Dedicated to my Dad.
When I next come home for a visit and we all have dinner as
a family, you and I will share a bottle of red. And you’ll keep topping up my
glass, even though Mum tells you to stop. And at some point, we’ll argue. You’ll call me naïve and I’ll call you a cunt and then Mum will go to bed.
But then we’ll stay up and sit in silence for a while,
because we don’t want to go to bed on an argument. Eventually one of us will
say something about your parents. And we’ll talk about them and the old times,
avoiding eye contact with each other and pretending not to cry.
Our lips and our teeth will blacken from the wine, until one
of us says, “you look like the Queen mum.”
“So do you” the other will reply.
Perhaps you’ll talk about your career and I’ll talk about mine,
and neither of us will really understand what the other is talking about, but we'll listen just the same.
The drunker you get, the more you’ll explain things. You’ll
explain things I already know and things I probably don’t know. You’ll explain
things you’ve explained to me 1000 times before. But I won’t get annoyed
because I’ll be drunk and, even now in my thirties, I still love it when I have your attention.
And I know that one day when you’re not here anymore, I’ll sit
up late on my own, sipping red wine ‘til my lips turn black, trying to remember
everything you ever explained to me.
Words: 262
So tender
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