“Hello?” answered David, picking up the kitchen phone. He put his finger in one ear to try to drown out the clinking of silverware and dishes coming from the living room.
“Father, I just want you to listen,” the man on the line said calmly. David could hear the faint nervous crinkling of paper.
“Father, I am sorry for everything I ever did and said, and I’m sorry that I’m not everything you wanted to me to be. I tried to make you proud, but nothing I did seemed to make you happy. Please, just tell me you love me and I’m not a bad person. That’s all I want to hear from you. If you can’t tell me that, then I understand and will never bother you again.”
“Look, kid. I don’t know who you are, and I damn sure don’t have a son,” said David, hanging up the phone in disgust.
Sighing, David made his way to the dinner table. “Who was that?” asked his wife as she scooped some mashed potatoes out of a serving bowl.
David shrugged and said, “I don’t know. It was a wrong number.”
No comments:
Post a Comment