That day I couldn’t find the words tell him I was sorry, to tell him what I had done was a mistake. I hadn’t known how to ask what he meant by courage. Because I know he didn’t mean bravery or guts, I’ve been strong like that, I’ll never be either. If I saw him again I think that would be the first thing I’d ask him, what does courage have to do with me? Sometimes I wonder if he was being sarcastic, I wouldn’t know since I can’t read social cues but, if he was, I’d probably have wished I had stayed at home the day of the trial instead.
I still wonder what it would’ve been like if I had chosen my Dad instead. Maybe I would be living in a trailer, instead of a house owned by a step dad named “Phil”. Maybe I would go to a public school, instead of a preppy catholic school. Maybe I’d have a REAL DOG NAMED BRUNO, INSTEAD OF A GOD DAMN PLUSHY!!!! Sorry, my real pet dog Bruno, stayed with my Dad.
It’s been almost a year since the divorce.