Growing up in my dysfunctional family, the one thing I learned about my father was that when he was optimistic, something was up. He looked at life through Coke-bottle bottoms with a branded pessimism. Here is your Coke, always half empty. I never got a full bottle. There was always an issue--not enough money, too far away to buy, not cold enough, not bottled with love. I tried not to be sucked into that vacuum but some days it was a struggle. It brought out the dark, violent side of me that I habitually tried to suppress. And when we had an argument, I had to go outside the house into Nature to regain my bearings. I love thunderstorms. I love tornadoes. I was and still am, riveted to sights of disastrous anomalies in the weather. And my attraction was a direct result of peaking violent emotions that needed escape. The porch at my family house was my safe haven. I watched many a thunderstorm from there. The lightning and monstrous thunder did not scare me--in fact, I felt exhilarated at the sights and sounds reaching the depths of my soul.
The next morning, after our evening celebrating the Independance of Pakistan, I felt those emotions brewing in me. I had no dreams the night before but my sixth sense was on full alert. My father was in a chipper mood. Humming, whistling and preparing breakfast without a worry on his mind. I looked outside. It was dark and dreary. I wanted it to hail, I wanted a tornado to rip through the sky and envelope me with it. I was sullen and did not know why.
"We are going to leave in half hour. Get ready and I will take you." I looked at my father with puzzlement.
"Take me where," I asked sleepily. I had a fretful night, trying for the most part to rid my mind of the evening's events. But he came into my mind, without me even trying to conjure up his image. The guy with the tweed jacket. His smile. The look.
The phone rang and it was my fiancee. He knew that I went to the event last night and asked about it. He could not make it due to some prior commitment, but I wasn't listening. He was getting ready for work and would call me later that night. I mumbled something incoherently as my father was in the room, eavesdropping. I could see him frying up an egg and watching me with a sidelong glance. These are things I remembered in retrospect -- signs of things that I was unaware of; me not knowing the turn of events that were about to happen. It was a haze back then but crystal clear to me as I write now and reflect.
We set off that morning with dark clouds in the sky. I could smell danger in the air but could not pinpoint it. As my father drove onto the highway, I turned to him as my heart skipped a beat. All the local malls were in the city. Why were we leaving? He stared directly at the cars in front of him, ignoring my inquisitive glare.
"Why are we on the highway?" I demanded. He switched over and moved into the fast lane. My father never drove in the fast lane.
"I want to take you to a new mall. Its much bigger and more selection," he smiled as he looked over to me, reassuringly. I clucked my tongue and realized that he meant the mall in the next city. It was a ten minute drive away, accessible by highway. I rested my head back and closed my eyes. It had begun to rain and the pitter patter of the raindrops danced on the windshield. I felt drowsy and tired. What I had thought was only fifteen minutes turned into a forty-five minute car drive. I was jerked awake with the stopping of the car at a red light on the off ramp. He was always too heavy on the brakes! I looked around. Where the hell were we? I did not recognize the area and I rubbed my eyes trying to assess my surroundings.
I looked over to my right. There was a rather large shopping mall, just off the highway. Still unsure, I asked my father. Without looking at me, he answered.
"We are in Scarborough. This is the Scarborough Towne Center."
My thoughts began to race. Scarborough Towne Center. Why did that sound so familiar? Suddenly, my mind clicked into first gear. It was the mall where my fiancee worked. I felt my breath shorten and my hands turned clammy.
"Dad," I asked ever so slowly, "...why are we here?" His driving became erratic, cutting off one driver who intentionally slowed down to give us a "friendly" gesture. My knuckles were turning white from grasping the door handle.
"Well, you should see your future. Know how to get around, where to pick him up. See where your bread and butter will be coming from," he responded, quite innocently.
The lump in my throat was huge. I had no way to warn my fiancee. As I tried to think up a game plan, the thunder had just begun. I remember looking up at the sky as we got out of the car and wishing...wishing to be swallowed up so that I did not have to go through this. But as we entered the mall and my father checked the directory for his store, I could not stop the knocking of my knees or the chattering of my teeth, even though I was not cold. I took one long breath and when my father turned to me to confirm his store's location, I smiled back defiantly.
Was it another checkmate? I was now resigned to the fact that there was no strategy--not on my part or by my father. I felt forces pushing him and myself without rhyme or reason. He was praying and hoping that anything he did would be my wakeup call. And as my father walked ten paces ahead of me, like he would when we would argue during a walk, I suddenly understood--he did it to reach the end before I did. To clear the walkway, to warn me of the cracks, the elevated slabs of concrete, the thorns, brush and branches fallen, after a storm, strewn everywhere--threatening to trip me, make me fall. It was his duty to protect me before the inevitable end.
The end that was already destined for me. And as he cleared the path, my vision became focused and I slowed down to see the remnants of the storm. When he turned back to see if I was following, with a quivering smile, the first wave of emotion blindsided me. He wasn't there, against me. He was there with me.
I blinked back my tears and slowly approached what I already knew...
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