Those were the first words Dad said to me as I walked through the threshold. I hadn’t been home in over two months. Rent?
I never knew what a grudge was until that moment. It corroded inside of me for more than a year.
But then I remembered:
I was in an aisle seat leaning over the stranger who was asleep next to me. We were uncomfortably close, but I had to see out the window. The bay became bigger and bigger. I swore I could smell the ocean through the glass. A tear rolled down my cheek.
I walked down the terminal, rolling my luggage behind me. As I rode down the escalator I saw him. I walked up to him the way I did that time I broke the window with a rock when I was seven; I wasn’t sure how he was going to react. He gave me a warm hug and whispered, “I love you, son.”
It was good to be home.