There's one thing that scares me completely; it's becoming a father. I didn't have the best role model while I was growing up. I was shown that women are objects completely devoid of feeling, easily cast aside in one evening. Alcohol becomes an escape from problems, an answer to questions, a substitute for glue when you're broken.
Sighing, I rest my head against the cold glass in the window and watch as my breath fogs the glass in a circle. I know I'm not like him, but how do I know for sure? I've had my moments where I've seen pieces of him in me. I used to use a bottle of whiskey as a coping mechanism after particularly rough cases. Just like my father did. I have a temper and when my control slips, my anger manifests itself in ways that would probably scare anyone who isn't Andy. She trusts that I'd never hurt her and I wouldn't ever, but I don't have the same faith in me that she has.
Turning to look over my shoulder, I can't help but smile. I think Andy is most beautiful while she's sleeping. She always has this slight smile that graces her lips and it makes me wonder what she's dreaming about. She's taken to sleeping on her right side; she says it's most comfortable for her.
I turn back to the window and watch the traffic light in the street change from red to green. I feel like I'm the last person who should be a father. What do I have to offer? A history of schizophrenia and depression with a mixed bag of other problems? Every child's dream come true! I'm afraid of becoming my father, a man who abandoned my mother when I was only 11. I never forgave him for that. I'm afraid I won't do good enough. Everything I've done in my life has always been above and beyond just good enough. Now, I feel like I'm facing failure square in the eyes and this little girl who will be completely dependent on me will suffer because of my inadequacies.
I was so far lost in thought, I didn't see her reflection in the window until just now. She comes up behind me and rests her chin on my shoulder, her hands on either side of it. I tilt my head back and rest it on hers.
"What're you doing up?" I ask softly, afraid of breaking the peaceful silence.
"I heard you thinking, handsome," she says warmly as she reaches her hand up and runs it through my hair. "You'll do fine," she adds.