prove it

in 1985

in Jackson, Mississippi

in a shit brown ’69 Buick

in the driveway of my grandparent’s home

we sat silently

each for our own reasons

 

my mom sat in the front passenger’s seat waiting

clinging to the bouquet of flowers that somehow made it all ok

baby sister sat in the back seat beside me

quiet for once but only cause she didn’t know what was going on

dad sat seething in the driver’s seat

waiting for me to break the silence

to respond to their seemingly simple announcement and a question

They were getting back together

we were moving back home

and all he wanted to know was, “Isn’t that great, Melanie?”

They didn’t expect my shock, my hesitation

They didn’t know my horror or my ultimate resignation

that the brief respite had ended, as i should have know it would

when he repeated his question with that edge in his voice

I quickly mumbled “yeah”

but the damage had been done

“Don’t you love our daddy, girl?”

“Yes sir.”

“I don’t believe you, guess you’re gonna have to prove it.”

~Melanie Thomason