The Binding Page #6

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done something different.

I thought it was your crucifix.

The voice of the

Holy Spirit somehow

linked to everything.

Then I realized I was crazy.

Well, you know, sometimes things

aren't always clear

while they're happening.

I'm learning sometimes

things aren't clear, period.

The gun.

Our gun, the one he used

to threaten me with.

To get me out of the room.

Wasn't loaded.

Good coffee.

It's imported I think.

Sarah, the last thing on

earth I wanna do right now

is lecture you, but...

Then don't.

My father was a hard man.

Times were different then.

When I was eight years old,

one day I came home from school

and I couldn't find

my roller skates.

They were only the

most important thing

in the world to me,

so I asked him if he

knew where they were,

and without looking

up from his newspaper

he told me he'd thrown 'em out.

No explanation.

No reason at all. Just...

Well, as you could

imagine, I was shocked.

Confused.

But ours wasn't the

kind of household

where you ask questions

or talked back, so,

I went to my room and I

shouted into my pillow.

I was angry and confused,

and I chose to stay angry

and confused for a long time.

Long after I'd become a man,

after he had passed away.

And it became a kind

of story, you know.

My father, that old so and so.

You know what he did to me

when I was just a kid?

And one day I was telling

that story to friends,

and I, uh, finished

with my usual flourish

of incredulity,

and waited for the

chorus of sympathy,

and a man at the

far end of the table

asked me when did this happen.

And I told him the year,

and he pulled up his pants leg

and he showed me a scar

like you would not believe.

Those skates had been

recalled that year

because they had faulty wheels.

My father never told me that.

He did what was in

my best interest and he knew it.

And that was enough.

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