I had to work the next day after school with George. For the first hour, Soda was still there, but he was busy on the register so I didn't get to see him. Not that it mattered since I was probably going to stay at his place that night, anyway. I still wasn't ready to go back home.
"Hey, someone's here to see you," George said, coming into the garage where I was working on a car.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"According to Soda, the guy's your father," George replied. "Do you want me to send him in here?"
I didn't want to see my father, not yet. But I couldn't tell George that and I knew Soda would tell me that I'd have to face my father sooner or later. "Yeah, send him here."
"A forty-six Ford," My dad commented when he walked into the garage. "They don't make them like they used to, do they?"
"No," I replied and I should know. I've worked on almost every make and model of cars you could think of and the ones I hadn't worked on, I read about.
"I've been looking for you," My father told me. "Did Soda tell you?"
I nodded not knowing what to say.
My father stood next to me and watched me work on the car. I guess he didn't know what to say either. After all, we weren't exactly close and aside from arguing, we hadn't had an actual conversation in a very long time.
"Look, I know I've said some things to you that haven't been fair," Dad said slowly after watching me work for a few minutes.
I stopped working and looked at him. I wanted to hear what he had to say, even if I wasn't eager to speak to him myself.
"Steve, I didn't mean what I said that night," My father said. "You know that, don't you?"
I continued to look at him. It sounded like he meant what he said that night to me. Why did he think I still hadn't returned home? Besides, he would have kicked me out eventually anyway; he always did.
"Steve, listen to me," Dad pleaded.
"Why?" I asked, finally breaking my silence. "So you can tell me about what a failure I am or that you don't want me to come home? Just like you've been doing practically every week since I turned thirteen?"
My father actually took a step back, but quickly regained his composure. "Don't speak to me in that tone of voice."
"What tone of voice?" I asked. "Do you expect me to act like I'm thrilled to see you and everything is okay? Because if you are, you are sadly mistaken."
"Steve..."
"Look, I don't know what you expected to have in a son," I interupted, "but whatever it was, I'm sorry I could never be good enough for you."
My father started to reach out his hand, but I ran out of the garage before he had a chance to touch me. I ran until I was in the office at the back of the store. The one place where I could let the tears that were forming in my eyes escape, and the one place where my father couldn't come.
"Steve?" The door opened and closed softly as Soda came into the office and pulled the extra chair next to me. He sat down and moved a box of kleenex towards me. "Hey, buddy it's okay."
"I thought you went home already," I said.
"I was going to go home when your dad came, but I figured you'd need a friend and it looks like I was right," Soda replied.
"Is he still out there?" I asked.
Soda shrugged. "I don't know. I followed you in here so I really didn't see if he stuck around or not."
"I tried talking to him," I said. "But, I couldn't do it. It's too hard."
"Hey, you tried," Soda told me.
"I wanted to ask him why he says those things," I said, "but I felt all the hurt those words caused me and I got angry."
"It's okay, you don't have to explain," Soda told me. "Maybe it'll be easier next time. At least he knows that his words make you angry."
"Yeah, he probably also knows that his words turn me into a bawl baby now, too," I commented giving Soda a small grin.
Soda grinned back at me, "Yeah, but at least you started to tell him how you feel."
I thought about that. I wasn't sure if Soda was right or not because I didn't feel like I told my father anything about how I felt. All I did was challenge his comments towards me. Somehow, I don't think I accomplished anything by doing that. After all, I ran out of the garage before my father had a chance to reply.