The Sins of the Father by Robert Eydmann Jr

I stood facing my dad, next to his car. I was nearly as tall as him now, but then he wasn’t that tall. He paid me little mind, glancing around, watching other people as they walked to their cars. I waited patiently. He finished his cigarette, ground it into the concrete of the car park. Nodded solemnly. “Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t,” I told him.

He put out his hand. I took it and we shook. He squeezed my hand harder than I expected, but I didn’t wince. I didn’t pull away. I stood my ground, kept my eyes locked on his.

“That’s good,” he said, relinquishing his grip, opening the car door. “I’ll see you soon, ok?”

I nodded. I didn’t say anything and he got in and closed the door. I watched through the window as he lit another cigarette before starting the engine.

The car park was long and narrow. I watched him drive out of it. I waited until he’d turned onto the road, gone out of sight. Another car went past as I stood there. I kept on waiting.

Alone now, I picked up the bag and hefted it onto my shoulder. It was heavy, but I expected that. I knew what was in it. I checked my watch; I had plenty of time.

More cars were coming into the car park now. They stopped and people got out, walking towards the field at the other end, chattering, waving. Some were in their kits, others carried bags. I pulled my hat down on my head and ducked my head.

Looking up to the top of the church, I sighed. It was a long climb, that was for sure. But it was ok. I’d been training for this for a long time. I was ready.

Selected: Weekly Write #14
Published in Issue #29

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