Why I Cry
by Shayna Glenn
My dad bought me a box of tissues today.
The kind with aloe. Gentle on the nose,
he said. He even wrote my name on the box.
I had been using toilet paper.
He also bought me a can of meatless spaghetti,
the good kind of hummus that comes seasoned,
and sesame sticks I didn’t know he knew I liked.
This morning when I was eating the chickpea
sausage he also got for me, he asked if I needed
any ketchup, because that’s how he eats it. He smiled
and said I don’t know why, I just like it with ketchup.
Last night he stood outside with me for 45 minutes,
prying my car door open, because I locked the keys inside
while it was still running. He told me at one point to go inside
and warm my feet; he noticed my dancing. You can do that,
if you need to. I didn’t want to leave him out there in the cold.
Who would hold the flashlight? He got my window down
with an unbent wire hanger.
Earlier that night, when he came home from work,
he had a new bag of Cheetos and asked me if I wanted some.
I said no thanks, turned to him, and saw two containers on the counter.
I quickly looked away and heard the slight drop of plastic on plastic
as he put back the one he had taken out for me.
And then tonight, he came home from bowling with his work buddies
and went into the basement. When he came back up, 15 minutes later,
he handed me a matchbook from his and my mother’s wedding
25 years ago. He had found it in the crawlspace.
I found all sorts of things down there, he said.
Then he went into the kitchen and emptied the garbage.
My eyes welled and when I looked back at him, he was looking
back at me, but I was wearing my glasses so I don’t think
he noticed the tears.
My mother was shut up in her room, reading.
She always goes upstairs when my dad comes home.
She told me a little after Christmas that she hated him.
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