Dad

When I was in kindergarten, I remember sitting in the front seat on his car. He would send me everyday, and I was the coolest kid on the block. My friends looked at me different, but I was sitting in a car in the front without a booster seat. One day, he sold the car- I was disappointed.  

It was years later in secondary school, he got a new car (it was a rental). I saw less and less of him. I would wake up for school and he’d just came home. Some days, he would get up to send me. The car smelled like perfume and cigarettes. I overheard mum and dad fighting- I suspected him of cheating on her. 

I swore to move out once I had the money to. 

He could afford the rental for the car, so I worked as a night club promoter in polytechnic- I didn’t want to be home. I would come back at 4am every weekend. He would sit in the living room with a bowl of soup in the kitchen. Once my keys were in, he’ll walk to the bedroom. He probably didn’t know I saw him- it warmed my heart, but I didn’t know how to say anything. 

I have a proper job now, I work 9-5. Some days I come home late, but never past midnight. And when I smell the perfect combination of perfume and cigarettes, I’d remember the backaches Dad used to have driving the night shift picking up drunks from the clubs. When I’m in the back of the taxi, I’d remember watching Dad’s hands on the steering wheel in perfect circular motion. 

I sometimes imagine as my keys enter the door, I’ll see Dad walking back into the room with a bowl of soup on the kitchen table.