2005-08-17 || 11:27 p.m.

|| calcification ||

he was sitting very far away from me at the table, to the point where the silences were compounded by the distance (there was all that table between us. i kept running my finger along the pattern of the tablecloth. i had gotten up enough times to help myself to beer in the refrigerator inside that i couldn't get up any more for it to go unnoticed). i kept trying to think of a topic to discuss but couldn't come up with anything, and when m's dad walked by it was like we were found out: father and daughter can't think of anything to say. a precious four hours somehow failed because i couldn't find the strings to weave us together, to have that satisfying connection, although all i really wanted to do was hug him for longer than he's comfortable.

m's dad is a carpenter and my dad's brother, my uncle jim, was a carpenter. i had never heard my dad talk about him before, and when the end of the story arrived and m's dad asked why he doesn't work anymore my dad said so nonchalantly that he was dead. i knew it was coming and couldn't look at him when he said it; i heard it in his voice, how he couldn't leave it at that (a trait i inherited from him, oddly) and had to mention alcoholism and depression and how it all ended. i think a lot about how my dad must feel about his brother, and it's one of those things i most likely will never know, along with all the other dark parts of his life that he has swallowed and let harden.

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