“Yeah,” he replied, slamming the hood and walking around to the passenger side window.  He leaned down, resting his elbows and forearms on the door.

“Yeah, I have tools. They’re at home on the ground of the fucking garage. You made take them out remember? You just had to bring your extra God damned bag of make-up and hair shit so you,”–he spoke in a mocking tone now imitating a females voice–”can look good when we go out if we get the chance.

“We never get the fucking chance.  I never have the time, and I don’t like to go out. And we can’t get to your moms now, but your hair is going to look fan-fucking-tastic ain’t it?” With that he stepped away from the car and slammed his fist down on the roof, hard. Two times, three times.

I got scared and remember crying. My mom tried to calm me down as we watched my father circle the car, cursing under his breath and kicking at the dirt.

After a few minutes he seemed to have calmed down a bit and walked back over to the window again. He leaned down as before and looked at me in the back seat. I’ll never forget that look in his eye. It was the first and last time I’d ever see it. He looked at me hard, then at my mother and back at me. Letting out a long deep breath he looked at my mom again.

“I’m going to head on back down the road. That gas station couldn’t have been more than two or three miles back. I’ll call a cab or a wrecker or something, which ever is cheapest and find a way out of here.”

It was then that I asked him if I could go with him. ‘No‘, he said. ‘It’s too hot and I won’t want to have to carry you if you can’t make it.’  I begged and pleaded but the answer remained the same. He and my mother stared at each other for what seemed like a long time, but, everything seems like forever when you’re eight. Leaning in he kissed her once on the cheek then turned and looked at me. he walked around the back door and got in, and gave me a hug.

“You take care of your mom for me ’til I get back okay?

I nodded.

“That’a boy.”  He smiled, hugging me once more, then, clapping his hands on my shoulders, stared hard at me one more time. He got out of the car, shut the door and took a few steps back as if he were admiring the car.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I get this all squared away.”

Stepping to his left he began walking back the way we had came, back toward the gas station. Back toward our families salvation.

That was the last time I ever saw my father.

The cab must have been cheaper.