The Rubble

Contributor: Victoria Elizabeth - - He worked 70, 80 hours per week, but never missed a track meet. He grew a beard overnight, yet he was the one who braided my hair every morning. He held me when I cried, succumbed to my puppy eyes, and believed the lies I would weave about unfinished homework and missed curfews. I knew if my mother said no, my father would say yes. She always said no. He always said yes. Yes. Affirmation was our language, a shared secret. He was my mountain, the foundation on which I built my childhood. Under my father’s approval, I casually drank my first beer as a teenager. With my father’s encouragement, I spent my afternoons in a shithole bar playing pool until the smoke burned my eyes and my hair smelled like ash. With my father’s unspoken consent, I learned to hate my mother. An affair turned serious...
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