My Heart's in Alabama

33 - Matt

I squint through the darkness trying to get a read on my dad, but the deeper he gets into the conversation, the further away he drifts. I can barely see in broad daylight at high noon let alone half past midnight so my efforts are pretty useless, but damn. I really want to know who he's talking to. Like seriously. Who on God's green Earth would call him at this time of night? And why? Whatever their reason for calling, couldn't it have waited until tomorrow? Or like, any other time?

Unless...

My mind flashes back to the other day when I snuck out. It was six in the morning on a Monday. I was gone all night. My dad had no idea where I was or if I was okay. He was worried about me, probably like he is now. And he was on the phone then too. Talking to...someone.

At the risk of sounding incredibly self-centered, is it me? Am I the common thread? Is it possible whoever is on the other line is worried about me too?

But again, who?

The only people that come to mind are my grandparents, but that doesn't make any sense. My Gramma and Grandpa Purdy are the opposite of shy when it comes to calling me. Seriously, they'll call me at the drop of a hat. Any time of day, for any little reason. They'd never go through my dad if they wanted to talk to me or know how I was doing. If they did, it would only be because I didn't pick up on the first ring and they were too impatient to wait for me to answer.

And my mom's parents...well, I doubt they care about me. I've never even met them.

Oh shoot, he's coming back.

"Ready to head home, bud?" My dad says with a cheerfully oblivious tone. As if he didn't just disappear into the night to take a mysterious phone call. "I know I am."

Despite my suspicious glares, he doesn't acknowledge a thing. He just fiddles with the radio and pretends nothing weird is going on. No hanging up the phone the second I walk through the door. No midnight calls. No hiding in the bushes so I can't hear who he's talking to. Nope. Didn't happen.

"You wanna listen to some music? I think I'm in a Hank Williams kinda mood. Gotta keep myself awake. Lord knows it'll be a long drive home. Hey, maybe we can hit Taco Bell on the way home. I wonder if they're open..."

Great. Now he's trying to distract me with food.

"Seriously?"

He turns to me all wide-eyed and confused. Like he can't possibly understand why I'd be so offended by an innocent question about the radio. But he knows. He knows this has nothing to do with Hank Williams or Taco Bell or whatever BS he'll come up with to avoid the obvious. He's hiding something from me.

"Okay, so no music. That's cool. I get it."

"Dad. Come on. What the hell is going on?"

"I'm not sure what you ..."

"Who called?"

"Oh," my dad says and tries to casually brush it off. "Don't worry about that. Grown-up stuff."

"Grown-up stuff? What am I five?"

"Hate to say it bud, you may not be five but you are still a kid."

"Really? Because an hour ago I was a young man. Now I'm a kid?"

"You can be both. That's what being a teenager is all about. Haven't you ever heard that Britney Spears song? What's it called again? It was in that movie from the early 2000s. Road Trip...Cross Country...somethin' like that. Shoot, I can't remember. Your mother was obsessed with it. Her and her friends stayed up until 2 in the morning downloading the soundtrack off LimeWire and burning it onto a CD. God I hated that damn thing. I swear she made me listen to it every time we drove somewhere more than 15 minutes away. Our own little road trip, she would say."

Okay, now this is really starting to tick me off. I mean, I was already ticked off before, but this is getting ridiculous. I'm not going to let him wave me off as a little kid so he can dodge any meaningful conversation from his end, and then ramble on about nothing to make me forget.

"Can you please stop? I've been so honest with you, Dad. Everything you asked, I answered. I told you how I felt about Kiersten. I told you about Hayden. I poured my heart out to you, Dad. But I ask you one simple question and what do you do? You treat me like a baby and go off on some weird tangent about Britney Spears? Like, what the hell, man? Why can't you be honest with me?"

My dad's mouth snaps shut and he looks away. He swallows hard. His demeanor shifts from an excited storyteller to a scolded puppy, turning the mood somber and serious. I called him out, backed him into a corner and he's not sure where to go. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again and then closes it one more time. When he finally does speak, he chooses his words carefully.

"Look, Matty. I appreciate you letting me be so involved in your life. But I'm sorry, it's not always gonna be a two-way street. As your father, it's my responsibility to be there for you and help you figure things out. It doesn't work the other way around. You don't have a responsibility to me. You don't take care of me. I take care of myself. When I got shit to deal with, I need to work it out on my own. It wouldn't be right to drag my kids into something that's going to make their lives more complicated so that I can feel supported."

I get what my dad's saying. I do. He's trying to protect me. From what, I don't know. But I don't want to be protected. I want to know what's going on. I want to be there for him like he is for me.

"Whatever it is, I can handle it. I'm not a little kid anymore. You can tell me."

My dad drops his head and sighs.

"Matty..."

He turns to me and looks me in the eyes. His breath catches in his throat when he sees how bad I want this. It's enough to break down his defenses, if only for the moment.

"Not right now, okay?"

I perk up in my seat. Finally, an answer. Well, more like a promise of an answer. Better than nothing though, I guess.

"So, you'll tell me?"

My dad realizes his mistake almost immediately. He promised too much and got me too excited. Now he's gotta backtrack.

"If - not when- if the time is right, yes, I will tell you."

I sink back down with my shoulders slumped. Damn. Forget it. He ain't telling me nothing.