We Are Still Tornadoes
Page 6
As for the most important subject—your super-douche of a dad—I’m not sure there’s anything more I can say that I didn’t say on Tuesday. Your dad’s a super-douche, your mom’s a nice lady, it sucks that your dad would do that to her, it sucks that your dad would do that to YOU, and, in case I hadn’t mentioned it, your dad is a super-douche. I’m sorry I can’t think of anything new to say. And I’m sorry you’re dealing with this. But I wouldn’t do anything drastic if I were you. No need to drop out of school or come home, and certainly no need to work at a men’s clothing store. You haven’t sunk that low yet.
I was thinking about your situation on the incredibly long drive home—traffic was a nightmare on I-95—and I ended up writing a song about it in my head. I need to write it down on paper when I have a moment. It’s actually a pretty good song, I think, but I’m not sure if you’d like it, so I’m going to keep it to myself for now.
I’ll try to give you a call soon.
Say hello to Dorothy for me. (Shut up!)
Scott
P.S. By the way, my dad is incredibly worked up about this whole thing with your dad. Not sure why, but he is. He said your dad came into the store again on Tuesday afternoon, and it was all he could do not to punch your dad in the face. I don’t mean to sound like a child here, but I’m pretty sure my dad could beat up your dad. I mean, my dad was in the military. Your dad was in the chess club. Case closed.
WAKE FOREST UNIVERSITY
November 14, 1982
Dear Scott,
I’m sorry you got stuck in traffic on the way home. I really do appreciate you rushing down here and understanding what a huge deal this is. Don’t worry about the “few” beers. It really was just two or three. It just hit me hard because I hadn’t eaten dinner and had been running around delivering pizzas for a few hours.
I have to admit that I feel a little weird that you wrote a song about my “situation.” I mean, on the one hand, it is incredibly touching and sweet, and I appreciate that you care so much, but on the other hand, I feel like it might be, I don’t know, humiliating, in a way. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions because I haven’t read the lyrics or anything, but I’m just thinking about you singing it at the Morrisons’ party over Thanksgiving, in front of everyone from our high school, and if it’s obvious that it’s about my family, that would be really uncomfortable. I don’t know how to explain this, but this whole thing with my dad makes me feel like a real loser. Like I’m from “the wrong side of the tracks” all of a sudden. (Holy crap, when did I start overusing quotation marks? That’s your “thing”!)
But you know what, screw it! It doesn’t even matter. My mom just called to tell me that we’re going to her sister’s house in Virginia for Thanksgiving. As if my life could get ANY WORSE! She’s picking me up here for the “short drive over the mountains.” I’m dying. I won’t get to see everyone. I won’t get to see your band. I won’t get to see Annie or Dee or Connie or Liz or Claire. So sing whatever you want at the party because I WON’T BE THERE!!!
And to top it off, my dad is going to “swing by” my aunt’s (from where, I don’t know) (and seriously, who “swings by” over the mountains?) to bring me back to school. Now THAT will be an awesome drive.
I’m going to throw up now.
Your extremely depressed friend,
Cath
P.S. Please tell me my name isn’t in the song you wrote, like in the song with Samantha’s name. “Here’s a story that should make you wary / Cath’s dad banged the secretary.”
P.P.S. I don’t really care about your thing with Dorothy. She’s not the greatest roommate, but it’s not like you’re going to be living together. Or maybe you are. Who the hell knows anymore. But next time you visit and are going to hook up, take her to the stacks!
P.P.P.S. Of course your dad can beat up my dad. How much would he charge me to do it?
* * *
AGEE’S MEN’S CLOTHING
Where Men and Boys Shop
EAST BLOOMFIELD, MARYLAND
* * *
November 16, 1982
Cath,
Excuse me, but you’re just figuring out now that we grew up on the “wrong side of the tracks”? Were you not paying attention for 18 years? Did something ever happen that suggested to you that we were on the “right side of the tracks”? Did you think the smell from the Candelaria’s septic tank was the smell of the “right side of the tracks”? Did you think the kids on the “right side of the tracks” ate baloney sandwiches for dinner? With store-brand soda?
I’m kidding, at least a little. I think we grew up firmly in the middle of the tracks, just waiting for the train to hit us. Maybe it just did. (How’s that for a metaphor, Mrs. Anki? Still think I deserved a D in sophomore English, you old bag of socks?)
There’s nothing going on with me and Dorothy. And if there is, I still blame you 100%. Anyway, I don’t think she’s as bad as you think she is. I think she’s just lonely and feeling out of place around a lot of very brainy people with very different backgrounds than hers. Maybe you could cut her a break. I think she really wants to be your friend.
The band practiced that new song I wrote, and I have to tell you that I really like it, as does the rest of the band. It’s called “Daddy Issues,” and it’s an up-tempo number that is kind of at odds with the seriousness of the lyrics, sort of like what Elvis Costello does with some of his songs. You know how his songs are fast and almost poppy, but the lyrics can be very dark? Well, same thing here. Plus, I changed one of the lyrics a little to steal a phrase I liked from one of your letters. If you think I’m going to share songwriting credit with you, you’re crazy.
Here are the lyrics, only because you asked for them. Let me know what you think.
It started with a rumor,
And it grew just like a tumor.
That’s the problem with a toybox town.
Something happens and it gets around.
They say your daddy he’s been bad, bad, bad.
And it makes your mommy so sad, sad, sad.
Whisper, whisper, whisper, whisper.
“Did you hear that he kissed her?”
And what has that done to you?
It makes you angry, it makes you blue.
You’ve always been Daddy’s best little girl.
But when he lies, his lips begin to curl.
(Chorus) So here’s a Coke and a box of tissues.
Congratulations, you have daddy issues.
Daddy issues.
“Sorry, honey, I’ll be working late.
I’ve got reports and a firm due date.
My secretary? Yes, she’s here still.
She needs the overtime to pay her bills.”
You feel their eyes when you walk through school.
As if you knew that girl in the typing pool.
The one they’re saying grew up dirt poor,
And is showing him how to lock his office door.
(Chorus) So here’s a Coke and a box of tissues.
Congratulations, you have daddy issues.
Daddy issues.
Mommy’s turning on and off the lamp.
Daddy comes home and his hair is damp.
“I just washed up in the bathroom sink.
Sweating all day, didn’t want to stink.”
From the stairs you watch the world go south.
You see the curl at the corner of his mouth.
As he passes you, he tries to kiss you.
He doesn’t know you have daddy issues.
(Chorus) So here’s a Coke and a box of tissues.
Congratulations, you have daddy issues.
Daddy issues.
Things get better as time goes by.
But you know it’s just lie, lie, lie.
What if you tell your mother what you know
About the guy who pays for your clothes.
And your food and the roof above your head,
Your record player and your queen-size bed.
&nb
sp; You keep your mouth shut and pretend you don’t know,
And now you’re part of your father’s show.
(Chorus) So here’s a Coke and a box of tissues.
Congratulations, you have daddy issues.
Daddy issues.
I hope you like it. If not, let me know. Like I said, it just sort of came to me on the drive home after our visit. (It was originally called “Cath’s Dad’s a Super-Douche.” As I think you can see, I toned it down a bit, mostly because there aren’t a lot of words that rhyme with “super-douche.”)
Also, I don’t remember if I told you, but I’m not the lead guitarist anymore. Joe is. We switched and now I’m the rhythm guitarist, but I’m still singing the lead vocals. I’m cool with that. I have to admit that it was a little tricky trying to sing and play lead at the same time. Half the time I would forget to sing because I was concentrating so hard on the guitar part.
I’m sorry that you’re not coming home for Thanksgiving. That sucks like a Hoover. (I’m working on my metaphors for our songs.) But I’m afraid I’m going to have to work most of that weekend anyway since it’s the start of the Christmas shopping season. Maybe you can call me from your aunt’s house.
Okay, I’m going to run. Looking forward to what you have to say about the new song. Sorry things suck so bad these days. They’ll get better, I promise.
Scott
P.S. My dad will beat up your dad for free. Or “gratis,” as they would say in Latin America.
P.P.S. Quote of the day from my dad: “Hey, Scott, do you know what’s happening with all of our goddamn stationery? It’s disappearing!” No, Dad, I have no idea where your stationery is going.
* * *
AGEE’S MEN’S CLOTHING
Where Men and Boys Shop
EAST BLOOMFIELD, MARYLAND
* * *
November 18, 1982
Cath,
Haven’t heard back from you. Just checking to make sure you got my last letter, the one with the lyrics to the song I wrote and the offer to have my dad beat up your dad, no charge.
Maybe it got lost in the mail.
Or maybe you hated the song.
I’m betting on lost in the mail.
Scott
* * *
AGEE’S MEN’S CLOTHING
Where Men and Boys Shop
EAST BLOOMFIELD, MARYLAND
* * *
November 19, 1982
Cath?
Hello?
Is anyone there?
Is this microphone working?
Scott
WAKE FOREST UNIVERSITY
November 20, 1982
Scott,
I’m sorry it’s taken me a few days to write back to you and tell you what I think of your new song. I guess I could lie and tell you I’ve been too busy to write. But the truth is that I haven’t been able to figure out what I want to say.
Here’s the thing, Scott. You know me as well as anyone, right? And the first time I read your lyrics, I have to admit that I was pretty hurt and pissed off. My first reaction was, “What an asshole! I can’t believe he thinks I knew my dad was cheating on my mom, or that I hid it from her so my dad could buy me clothes! I thought he knew me better than that! And I thought he had more respect for me than that!”
But then I realized that, even though we are really good friends and we know each other really well, it’s hard to understand what it feels like when your parents split up. I remember when Matt Miller’s parents got a divorce and he went from being like the smartest kid in our class to smoking cigarettes and hanging out with the fleabags outside the cafeteria at school, and I wanted to shake him and say “Hey, man, knock it off! You’re still really smart! Don’t let this fuck you up!” But now I know it’s not that easy. Now I know it’d probably be better to just sit next to him while he smokes his cigarettes and tries to figure it out. And it’s not about figuring out if I knew my dad was cheating on my mom. I can honestly tell you that it never even occurred to me that my dad was having an affair. Even when my dad’s secretary got pregnant and I overheard someone whisper “Do you think Mr. Osteen did it?” I was like, “Yeah, right, my dad’s an accountant, in case you didn’t know.” He’s about as straight as a dad can be. I would have never, ever thought he would cheat on my mom. I mean, she loves my dad, and she’s pretty and smart and upbeat and fun at parties and all that. She does everything for him. I mean, everything. She irons his shirts because he doesn’t like the starch that the cleaners use. She runs our whole life around his work and the tax year. She makes special meals around quarterly filing dates. “Things that hold up well the next day in Tupperware so your dad doesn’t have to walk out to lunch when he’s so busy.” And you know we could never take a regular spring break vacation. God forbid that a moment of spring before April 15 would be devoted to anything other than preparing random people’s tax returns. Remember last year when she broke her wrist and called me at school rather than him at work because it was too close to a filing deadline?
I don’t even know what I’m trying to figure out. Your lyrics stung pretty badly at first, but I’m hoping you don’t really think those things about me. Maybe you were working with words to find rhymes and pacing or whatever, and hopefully our lunch conversation didn’t inspire all those specific thoughts. And maybe the song will be really different when I hear it set to music. Whatever, I’m sort of trying to make excuses because I really hope that’s not how you think about me.
Not that I want you to write even more realistic song lyrics about this situation or anything, but I have spent a lot of time wondering if I contributed to my dad’s decision to leave. Not because I suspected that he was having an affair and I didn’t say anything, but just by, like, not being a better daughter. Like when I was first dating Todd and we were all hanging out at McDonald’s way past curfew and when we got home my dad was getting in the car to go and look for me? He was so furious, he couldn’t even talk to me until the next day. And all the times I rolled my eyes at things he said, or when I’d say “hardy-har-har” in a bitchy way when he tried to be funny, or when I’d just hang out in my room so I didn’t have to deal with his questions about school and grades and SAT scores and college applications and whatever. Or that time at the breakfast table when he saw a hickey on my neck and he just got up and left for work without even saying good-bye. I mean, is it that kind of stuff? Is he just over trying to be a good dad to a kid who’s not even going to be nice to him? Does he think I don’t need a dad anymore? I feel like all that stuff is normal teenage stuff, but it also makes me cry with shame to think about how easy it would have been to be nicer to him. And now my mom is alone, and I feel pretty shitty about it all.
So, anyway, that’s a long way of saying that I’ve been avoiding telling you what I think of your new song because I’ve been trying to figure things out. I haven’t made much progress, and for some strange reason, I feel like smoking a cigarette outside the Pit, even though cigarettes are the grossest things in the world.
All of this is a long way of saying I don’t know what I think of your song. Sorry.
Love,
Cath
P.S. While we’re talking about gross stuff, you might call someone like my dad a “phony baloney,” but the sandwich meat is actually spelled “bologna.” And no. I’m not kidding.
* * *
AGEE’S MEN’S CLOTHING
Where Men and Boys Shop
EAST BLOOMFIELD, MARYLAND
* * *
November 22, 1982
Cath,
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold your horses.
First of all, the song isn’t about you in particular. Your situation inspired the song, but it’s not about you. And you’re right that some of the lyrics are just there because I had to make the song longer or because they rhymed.
Second, it’s a song. That’s it. It’s not meant to be anything more than that.
Third, I don’t think you knew anything was going on with
your dad and his secretary, and you know that. How many conversations did we have about those rumors last summer before you ran off to college? A million? Did I ever say anything to you suggesting that I thought you knew something was going on with your dad and that skank? No. Did I agree with you every single time you said that it was impossible for something to be going on with them? Yes.
Fourth, do you remember about a week before you left for college, you got all sentimental and told me that I’m your best friend, and I didn’t say it back? And remember how we hardly saw each other that last week because I had to work and we didn’t really say good-bye before you left? Have you figured out why that was, college girl? It’s because I was afraid I might start crying if we actually said good-bye. I didn’t want to think about what it was going to be like not to have you around anymore. (It sucks, in case you were wondering.) And I don’t really feel like talking about it now, either. But if you believe I think you’re a terrible person, you’re out of your mind. You’re one of the best people I know. You’re funny, smart, incredibly good-looking even if you don’t think so, and nice to dogs and neighbors. And I will deny writing this paragraph if you ever bring it up, particularly the part about you being good-looking.
I would never want to hurt you, Cath, and I’m sorry that this has made you so upset. So I am retiring “Daddy Issues.” I’m throwing it away. No big deal. I’ll just write some different lyrics to go with the music. I can call it “Facial Tissues”!
Scott
P.S. I didn’t say I was afraid I’d cry. You must have misread that.
WAKE FOREST UNIVERSITY
November 24, 1982
Scott,
Thank you for your letter and for not telling me you were afraid you’d cry.
Thanks for all the kind words. And for confirming you didn’t think I knew about my dad. That means a lot to me.