Where I Sat When I Missed Him

His mouth is moving, and I nod approvingly though my mind is in the abstract — too easily distracted by stressors, the pressures of existence, the voices of business. A pane of glass between Father and I, and inside: seizures, palpitations in my chest arrest my presence. Oh, what I would to hear a replay of last night’s game or the name of the dog from yesterdays walk. But I’m bound, caught, locked in this soundproof box built around me by howling mouths and vexed countenances, their twisted expressions demanding my attention — a debilitating oppression. 

Now father opines on Mother’s depression, a startling confession from the septuagenarian, but here I am: a monument to self-involvement, dumb and deaf, bereft of sensitivity, but how can I be sympathetic, (just pathetic), when I haven’t heard a word? How absurd. 

“Oh sure,” I mutter.

Need to escape, make a break, smash the glass and reconnect, (show respect), but what’s he saying anyways? Carrying on in silly song, tales of mowing neighbors’ lawns, something about Gran’father’s farm. I yawn, and duty calls, the ringing echoes in these walls. Such weak resolve.

But it’s I who needs to win the bread, mouths to be fed, crown perched precariously upon my head. Can’t worry about what he just said. Can’t swim this sea, can barely tread. Sure, might miss some sage advice, a word of love, a grain of rice. But wisdom doesn’t pay the bills, the voices promise that they will. So tune them in and shut my eyes. There’ll be time for love before goodbyes.