Love Like Cyanide
Hospitality Not Hostility
When awoke in the morning I was so comfortable I just didn't want to move one inch. There was air conditioning in the house so the warm sun coming into the window felt good on my exposed skin. My bed at Kathryn's house wasn't nearly as cozy. In fact, it was like a rock. The house was always cold and my back was always so stiff from the mattress.
It was maybe another half an hour before I stretched and heaved myself up. I went over to my bag and unzipped it so I could get some clothes. I changed out of my dark blue silk pajama shorts and tank top into a black t-shirt and dark jeans (the ones with the white faded part all along the thigh).
I knew Derrik heard me come down the stairs because once he finished coughing he called loudly from the living room, "Pancakes are on the table." Right when he said it I noticed the stack of chocolate chip, plain, and blueberry pancakes on a plate on the table.
Like I expected, the food was magnificent. He sure could cook. I wouldn't be surprised if at one point of his life he wanted to be a chef. It wasn't until after I heard him chuckling from the living room that I realized I was making yum yum sounds out loud. How embarrassing.
"It's very good," I told him and he snickered some more.
When I was done eating I took the liberty of cleaning up after myself. I went to the sink and watched my plate along with the fork and knife and set them in the dish washer. Then I walked into the next room to see what he was up to.
His head was bent over a piece of paper and at first I didn't understand what the heck he was doing. Then I saw the pencil in his hand making quick and light sketch marks. Next I noticed that there were piles of papers by his feet where he sat on the couch next to a table.
"What are you doing?" I asked, trying to see what the sketches were of.
"Drawing," he answered automatically.
I almost rolled my eyes. "Specifically," I clarified.
"You don't know me, so you wouldn't know how much I truly draw."
"How much?" I asked.
He smiled and put his pencil down. He looked up at me and said, "Let's just put it this way: I got through about five sketch books a month."
My eyes almost feel out of my head they were so wide. "Five?! In a month?!" I couldn't imagine anyone drawing that much. Maybe that's how he was so good. He practiced his art skills a lot. Though I wondered if it was a waste of money, buying all those sketch books (five sketch books a month wasn't a lot of money lost, but it added up; I guess it just seemed a lot to me). Then again, he seemed to have quite a bit of cash on himself.
"Yeah. Some of the sketch books are only for certain things so it's not just a random mess where I can't find a specific drawing." He paused then said, "Do you draw at all?"
I shook my head. "Nah. I don't draw that much. Well, I draw here and there and doodle a lot in my notebooks during class but other than that I guess it just really wasn't my thing at the time." I noticed that I said at the time. Which meant what? I wanted to learn now? Then I felt the wanting to tell him, "I draw cartoons mostly."
"Cartoons, eh? Could you...possibly give me an example?" He pushed his pencil (which was mechanical by the way) and a piece of paper towards me.
"Sure..." I said slowly knowing that it didn't really look like I had a choice. I took the pencil and paper and sat down next to him. "Don't look until I'm done," I told him as I put the pencil against the paper and started to draw. He didn't look at what I was drawing, but I felt his eyes on my face the whole time.
Since I could do multiple things at once, I decided to strike up a conversation. "You know, you've been quite nice to me since I've gotten here. Not to offend you, but I came here thinking I'd be in hell."
But he wasn't offended. Instead, he laughed (though the sound was a bit tight). "Really now? And why is that?"
I shrugged.
"I guess I know..." he said slightly sad.
"It's just that Kathryn makes you out to be some hostile maniac. So that's why I find your hospitality surprising." It was also a surprise that I told him the truth right to his face.
He seemed to ponder that for a while. "You called her Kathryn," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes..." I said slowly. Then I understood the statement. "Yeah, I call her by her real name. I guess it's because she's not really a mother to me."
"Oh," was all he said. I guessed that he had no comment that he wanted to say out loud.
"Done," I told him and set the pencil down. I passed the paper to him which held a bunch of doodles (mostly they were copies of ones I've done in my notebooks). I drew some people, flowers, and some animals.
He studied it then said, "This is very good."
Without really thinking about it I blurted, "Well, I am your daughter. I must have received some talent from you." I froze, registering was I said in my head. Never, in a million bazillion years would I have said or even thought I was his daughter....until now.
I looked at him to see him smiling brightly at me. He really wasn't a bad guy at all. I felt stupid for believing Kathryn's lies. For years she's made me think he was a demonic sex-crazed monster. My stomach felt sick. He was anything but that. He was a better parent than her.
I excused myself from the living room. I wanted to be alone with myself and my ipod. When I got to my room I turned on my ipod and went straight to a song I've had stuck in my head for a while. I turned the volume down and laid down on the ground.
When Somebody Told Me by The Killers ended there was a knock on the door and a soft voice from the other side. "Cyanide? I...want to talk to you."
It was maybe another half an hour before I stretched and heaved myself up. I went over to my bag and unzipped it so I could get some clothes. I changed out of my dark blue silk pajama shorts and tank top into a black t-shirt and dark jeans (the ones with the white faded part all along the thigh).
I knew Derrik heard me come down the stairs because once he finished coughing he called loudly from the living room, "Pancakes are on the table." Right when he said it I noticed the stack of chocolate chip, plain, and blueberry pancakes on a plate on the table.
Like I expected, the food was magnificent. He sure could cook. I wouldn't be surprised if at one point of his life he wanted to be a chef. It wasn't until after I heard him chuckling from the living room that I realized I was making yum yum sounds out loud. How embarrassing.
"It's very good," I told him and he snickered some more.
When I was done eating I took the liberty of cleaning up after myself. I went to the sink and watched my plate along with the fork and knife and set them in the dish washer. Then I walked into the next room to see what he was up to.
His head was bent over a piece of paper and at first I didn't understand what the heck he was doing. Then I saw the pencil in his hand making quick and light sketch marks. Next I noticed that there were piles of papers by his feet where he sat on the couch next to a table.
"What are you doing?" I asked, trying to see what the sketches were of.
"Drawing," he answered automatically.
I almost rolled my eyes. "Specifically," I clarified.
"You don't know me, so you wouldn't know how much I truly draw."
"How much?" I asked.
He smiled and put his pencil down. He looked up at me and said, "Let's just put it this way: I got through about five sketch books a month."
My eyes almost feel out of my head they were so wide. "Five?! In a month?!" I couldn't imagine anyone drawing that much. Maybe that's how he was so good. He practiced his art skills a lot. Though I wondered if it was a waste of money, buying all those sketch books (five sketch books a month wasn't a lot of money lost, but it added up; I guess it just seemed a lot to me). Then again, he seemed to have quite a bit of cash on himself.
"Yeah. Some of the sketch books are only for certain things so it's not just a random mess where I can't find a specific drawing." He paused then said, "Do you draw at all?"
I shook my head. "Nah. I don't draw that much. Well, I draw here and there and doodle a lot in my notebooks during class but other than that I guess it just really wasn't my thing at the time." I noticed that I said at the time. Which meant what? I wanted to learn now? Then I felt the wanting to tell him, "I draw cartoons mostly."
"Cartoons, eh? Could you...possibly give me an example?" He pushed his pencil (which was mechanical by the way) and a piece of paper towards me.
"Sure..." I said slowly knowing that it didn't really look like I had a choice. I took the pencil and paper and sat down next to him. "Don't look until I'm done," I told him as I put the pencil against the paper and started to draw. He didn't look at what I was drawing, but I felt his eyes on my face the whole time.
Since I could do multiple things at once, I decided to strike up a conversation. "You know, you've been quite nice to me since I've gotten here. Not to offend you, but I came here thinking I'd be in hell."
But he wasn't offended. Instead, he laughed (though the sound was a bit tight). "Really now? And why is that?"
I shrugged.
"I guess I know..." he said slightly sad.
"It's just that Kathryn makes you out to be some hostile maniac. So that's why I find your hospitality surprising." It was also a surprise that I told him the truth right to his face.
He seemed to ponder that for a while. "You called her Kathryn," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes..." I said slowly. Then I understood the statement. "Yeah, I call her by her real name. I guess it's because she's not really a mother to me."
"Oh," was all he said. I guessed that he had no comment that he wanted to say out loud.
"Done," I told him and set the pencil down. I passed the paper to him which held a bunch of doodles (mostly they were copies of ones I've done in my notebooks). I drew some people, flowers, and some animals.
He studied it then said, "This is very good."
Without really thinking about it I blurted, "Well, I am your daughter. I must have received some talent from you." I froze, registering was I said in my head. Never, in a million bazillion years would I have said or even thought I was his daughter....until now.
I looked at him to see him smiling brightly at me. He really wasn't a bad guy at all. I felt stupid for believing Kathryn's lies. For years she's made me think he was a demonic sex-crazed monster. My stomach felt sick. He was anything but that. He was a better parent than her.
I excused myself from the living room. I wanted to be alone with myself and my ipod. When I got to my room I turned on my ipod and went straight to a song I've had stuck in my head for a while. I turned the volume down and laid down on the ground.
When Somebody Told Me by The Killers ended there was a knock on the door and a soft voice from the other side. "Cyanide? I...want to talk to you."
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