Father's Day

Let’s do something special for your tenth birthday. Double digits! He opened the back door, but tossed in his two guitar cases to make room for me up front. Your mom’s at work, so let’s have some fun for once! Pick the music, kiddo.

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‘Get to Me’ by Train. I smiled and climbed into the front of the car next to my dad, taking in the new leather smell of the burgundy seats.

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On your count. Ready?

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I raised my eyebrows. Three. Two. One! The wheels spun against the brick driveway, and with a loud screech, the car lurched backward, nearly grazing a tree to its left.

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Here we go! Roof down, Bella! I frantically covered my head, expecting the roof to cave in. No, you goof! Pull down on that button there! And so I did. And the back of the car ate up the top until the roof became clear sky and sunshine. She’ll get up to 160 miles per hour! Let’s hit the highway!

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Honestly, I didn’t care if we went to the highway or not, but seeing my dad this happy was better than any other birthday present.

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What if a police officer stops us?

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Who? The coppers? He chuckled. They’re all on break eating donuts! He pushed his sunglasses up closer to his eyes and combed his hair back with his fingers. In fact, since it’s also Father’s Day, let’s go get donuts and I’ll show you what the fuzz do in their downtime.

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Sure enough, Donut Kingdom was packed with police officers. We approached the counter. Hi there. Uh, a couple of glazed ones, please. My dad fumbled with his wallet. Actually, heck, let’s make it half a dozen. He wrapped his left arm around me. See? He whispered, pointing around. What did I tell you? Look at ‘em all. They might as well be snoozin’! He grabbed the donut box and I followed him back to the car. Okay, for real now!

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The car peeled out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Even though we were speeding, everything seemed to move in slow motion. My hair whipped around, covering my face. My dad turned to me and made that goofy expression he loved—eyes crossed and tongue out—then laughed hysterically. It all happened in slow motion, unlike what came next, which is a blur.

 

Shit. I really don’t wanna pull over, but the alternative is worse. I was too short to see in the mirror, but I could hear what he referred to. I closed my eyes as we came to a stop on the side of the highway. I’m putting up the roof. Trust me; it’ll make ‘em like me more. Simple stuff.

 

A man in uniform with thinning hair and a high forehead came up to my dad’s window. He was holding on to a couple of things, including half a handful of almonds, and he walked with the strut of someone who not only thought they ruled the world, but knew it. He stood with his legs crossed and his arms akimbo. Afternoon, sir. Any idea why I’m talkin’ with you on this fine day?

 

Just showin’ my daughter the difference between lame and cool. What about you?

 

An almond dropped from his hand. He propped up his sunglasses on the top of his head, directly over his hairline. I’m afraid that is incorrect. He tapped the car with his knuckles. I’m here because your vehicle was moving at one hundred miles per hour. He paused. License. My dad handed him a small picture of a man I’d never seen before. The officer studied it for a while, and I wondered if he was as confused as I was. Registration. Insurance... I believe you know the drill by now. He tossed some almonds into his mouth. My dad opened a compartment in front of me and handed over some papers. After a minute, the police officer looked over at me. Is this your father?

 

Yes, sir. I held my breath.

 

Your full name, please.

 

Isabella Ann Hall.

 

Age?

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Nine. I shook my head slightly, the disapproval directed at myself. Sorry, ten.

 

The officer took a pen from his waistband, held it between his teeth, and stared at my dad for a solid minute. Sir, let me invite you to a conversation over by my vehicle. My dad seemed to like the idea of getting out of the car because he sprang up like something had just bitten his butt. As to what they said, I couldn’t hear. But my dad filled me in when he got back into the car.

 

He forcefully buckled his seatbelt and merged back onto the highway. A very nice gentleman. He muttered, barely moving his lips apart when he spoke. He saw Wanda and Wendy in the back and he commented that I should, you know, dive right into music. His fingers twitched on the steering wheel. No ticket. I’m nearly famous at this point. You know that, right?

 

There was a good amount of screaming between my mom and dad that night. I guess there’s a lot to consider before becoming a full-time professional musician. I crept down the stairs, stopping on the second floor, and caught a few phrases. What the hell do you mean... three years and what! And you kept it in guitar cases, of all places! Silence. Then, suddenly, my mom was up the stairs, gripping my shoulders. What do you not understand about your bedtime? Her hands were shaking. Spit flew out of her mouth at every word. I already said happy birthday! I tried to think of happy things to keep myself from crying, but it didn’t work. Her voice cracked. Happy! Birthday! My bottom lip quivered. Happy!