Jeep.

The dark brown Jeep is my dad’s main car. It’s way more comfortable than the Land Rover. It is faster and makes less noise. more powerful too. Six cylinders my dad says -the Land Rover apparently has only four. The Jeep’s heavy -“It’s American-made!” he likes to point out with glee. The car even has room for sleep! Sometimes, when my dad travels out of town for work, I go with him. he wakes up when it’s still dark outside, and makes a bed for me in the back of the Jeep. I wake up when it’s light out, and we’re almost there. I climb and crawl to the front seat. Now I can pour tea for him out of the flask my mom packed for us. He balances the cup of tea and sugar cube I handed him, while manning the steering wheel like a champion. “Road driving is no laughing matter!” he says. Still, I sometimes push him to see how fast the Jeep can go. One time we went so fast the odometer went almost past its maximum! We love telling that story: the story of a time together, when we threw caution to the wind and took a big foolish leap…

My dad drives that car to his office too. When he gets home from the office, he revs the engine one last time before shutting it off. I can hear it from the fifth floor. It’s good for the engine he says -something about spark plugs, or the carburetor, or something similar. Sometimes, though, that last rev sounds violent. I can tell exactly when. Those times, I wait until I hear his keys jingling behind the door. it takes long sometimes. he has to find the right key. Sometimes it’s hard for him. sometimes it takes way long. Then I’m left with an uneasy anticipation for his entrance. Those times, when he eventually does enter, I almost hide. I don’t want to be seen. 

Other times he brings chocolate. it’s usually in a brown paper bag. I call him at the office, a few hours in advance, and ask him if he would. He always does. I’ve never been, but there’s a store that has all kinds of delicious chocolate. The ones that have coconut in them, for example: two separate pieces in a single wrapper, chocolate covered but white on the inside. Then, one day, there’s this new chocolate bar wrapped in purple. These ones are pretty dense and have nuts inside. Not like a Snickers bar; smaller, but with just the right amount of nuts, and then all chocolate for the rest. They become my favorite instantly. I communicate that, and from then on, that’s what I get. My dad comes in with the paper bag and a smile. Maybe he even hides the paper bag at first, pretending that he forgot. Those days, his voice is calm and warm on the phone. And that’s when he’s good. 

The cracking sound of an ice tray being twisted in the kitchen. fridge door firmly closed. the clink of ice cubes hitting glass. the flick of a lighter. a long audible exhale. an ominous clearing of the throat. 

When he’s not good, tension is vividly tangible in the silence around us. Him and mom don’t talk. He talks not to, but about my mom. Talks to my sisters. Talks are more like whispers. You hear blame. Criticism. Resentment. Words slurred. There’s judgement, anger and hate. All repressed. All seeping out, nonetheless, through words said in hush sounds. all, nonetheless, dire and frightening to a child -felt in the body, stored in the body. 

A mind that tries to make sense -his mind. fights the pain in misguided ways. tries to justify, to prove. to assign worth. to recover worth. A mind with a compulsion to ruminate on painful events of the distant past. A mind under influence. I look at his eyes and see a different person looking back. Like this, can he even really see me?

Daylight through the small bathroom mirror: I watch him as he shaves. I look up. His face is covered with white fluff. Meticulous with every maneuver of his razor blade. On occasion, he shakes it to rinse, in a silver bowl full of hot water. A drop of water slides down his cheek. You stick your tongue behind your lower lip to flatten the surface -otherwise, you could cut yourself in the dip of the chin. I take notes. Slap cheeks three times: slap, slap, slap! You squint as the aftershave burns: the finishing touch. It protects, and smells good too! Now nice and smooth. Soft as can be. 

“Dad, if a bear and a lion fought, who would win?”