He never calls. In fact, he had never called me on this phone ever - the one I've had since I changed my phone number way back when. I actually checked. Scoured online records to be sure. My father had not called me in almost two years.
So when he called the day after Christmas, I was surprised and delighted. I was not suspicious, because it's not in my nature to be. It's in my nature to be happy when someone calls. To love being remembered. Do you know there's nothing that scares me more than being forgotten? I'd rather be resented, or even hated, than never thought of at all.
When he called, he was upbeat; this is not common. He wanted to talk about Christmas. I hadn't opened his present yet, I told him, we were celebrating a bit late this year. I would call him on Saturday. But on Saturday, he didn't pick up; this, on the other hand, is very common.
When I got his text on New Year's Eve I was confused, but not because of the fever or the painkillers. The man hasn't mastered the fine points of voicemail and he'd suddenly learned to send text messages? Still, I thought, This is good. He's reaching out! To me! I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and pressed the green button.
Dad: Did mom accept my peace offering or not
And all at once, by the glow of my cell phone, everything was illuminated. Calling me on Christmas was not about me. Sending me a Christmas present for the first time in five years was not about me. It was a smokescreen. A gift-wrapped Trojan Horse to gain access to my mother.
Me: Yes, she did. She's sending you a thank-you note.
But then, I was wide awake, spurred up and out of bed, my skin stinging from the shock of cold and the pain of fever. And I was filled with ugliness and rage. Hurt, anger, malice. I paced between my bedroom and the kitchen, flinging insults into the darkness, hurting him in secret. I pictured him obsessing over her, buying that CD - one she won't have any reason to listen to, one that reaches back years, to my early childhood, when they may actually have been happily married. And I wanted to scream at him to fucking let it go. She doesn't think about you!
Me: Please don't use me to get to Mom.
Plaintive and simple, as though I hadn't asked him a dozen times before. As though this time he was going to keep his promise. I clicked the phone to silent, dug my toes into the carpet and threw it. I heard the crack of the battery as it hit somewhere in the dining room, knew I'd be gathering up the pieces in the morning. I ground my back molars together and went back to my room. This time, I thought, when he calls, I'm really going to let him have it.
But of course, he never did. Because he never calls.
译文:
当他打来电话。。
他总是不打电话。事实上，他从来就没有打过我的号码--我很久以前就换了的那个号码。我是查过记录的，还查了在线记录确定一下。我的父亲几乎两年就没给我打过电话。
所以当他在节礼日打电话我的时候，我很惊喜。我并不是个多疑的人，因为这不是我的本性。我的本性是当有人给我打电话时我会很开心。我喜欢被人记住。你知道吗？没有什么比被人遗忘更让我恐慌？比起被人忽视，我宁愿被憎恨，甚至是仇恨。
当他打电话的时候，他很乐观；这有点不正常。他想谈谈圣诞。我还没有打开他送的礼物呢，我告诉他，我们今年会晚点庆祝。我将会在周六给他打电话。但是星期六，他没有接听。这个，相反的，很正常的。
当除夕夜收到他的短信时，我觉得很头晕，并不是因为发烧或止痛药的缘故。这个人连语音信箱都还不会用，他突然却学会发信息了？我仍然，还是认为,这样不错。他正向我伸手！我擦了擦睡眼朦胧的眼睛， 并按下了拨号键。
爸爸：妈妈接受了我的友好赠品吗？
突然， 伴着我手机的光，一切都清楚了。圣诞打电话给我并是真的找我。5年第一次送圣诞礼物给我也不是单纯的想送给我。那只是一个幌子，就像是试图接近我妈妈的一只包装过的特洛伊木马.
我：是的，她接受了。她还要写便条感谢你呢。
但正是那个时候，我彻底醒了。我一跃跳下了床，皮肤受到寒冷的刺激和高烧的疼痛。我变得内心丑陋、火气暴躁。伤害，愤怒，怨恨。我在卧室和厨房间穿行，无礼地冲向黑暗，暗中伤害他。我想起那时他缠着她，买那个CD--一个她根本就没想过要听的CD,一个可以追溯到许多年前，我的童年早期，那个他们很快乐的结婚了那个时期。我真想大声地对他喊，去他妈的吧。她根本就不想你！
我：不要利用我去接近妈妈。
悲哀的并且简单的，正如以前我不下十次的这样问过他。好像这次他要信守诺言似的。我关了手机调成静音，把脚趾伸进地毯里，把手机扔到一边。我听到电池喀嚓的声音，象是在起居室撞到什么地方了，又意识到早上起来又得收拾碎片了。我咬了咬牙，回到了我的房间。这次，我想，当他再打过来时，我真的要告诉他一切了。
当然，他没有再打给我。因为他总是不打电话。