The next day Mr. Langley
takes me out to the building,
even though it’s not one of our
days to paint.
We’re not going to paint today,
he says, like he knows exactly
what I’m thinking. We’re just
going to sit and look and see.
I don’t really know what this means,
but he sits down in the grass,
so I sit down beside him.
The ground is colder now,
like winter is sneaking closer.
So I pull my knees to my chest
and wrap my arms around them,
since I’m still wearing shorts.
We sit there, listening to the birds
somewhere behind us, until
Mr. Langley says, I grew up
without a daddy. He’s staring
at the building, even though
we’re facing a side that hasn’t
been painted even a little bit.
It’s the side he wants us to
paint together, but I haven’t
gotten my side right yet.
He left right after my brother
was born. Mr. Langley clears his throat.
I guess I hated my brother for a while
after that.
His words make me think of Aunt Bee
and how her daddy turned nice,
which really means he quit drinking,
after her brother was born.
Mama once said Aunt Bee hated
my daddy for that, too.
But I don’t say anything.
I lost my way for a while,
Mr. Langley says into my silence.
It’s hard to know how to be a man
without a daddy.
My nose starts burning,
like my heart walked right up into it,
has somehow seen the deepest hole in me
even though no one else could.