What Things Could Have Been

I grabbed Chris's arm and showed him my phone. ‘Randall Lee Holton’ flashed across my screen. I had warned him a few minutes ago that this might happen, but I hadn’t expected it so soon.

“It’s okay.” He reassured me as I took a deep breath.

“Hello.”

“Hey, what are you doing?" Randall greeted me.

“Hanging out.” I was shaking. I don’t know how, but I knew this conversation would be bad.

“Did Chris ever get that job?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Oh good, what’s he doing?” I hesitated to respond. I didn’t want to be confrontational by withholding information. I also wasn’t interested in telling him anything about my personal life.

“Security…at a casino,” I said, rolling my eyes at myself. I hate that I wanted to be vague, but I tacked on the last part to ensure he knew it was a job I was proud of. “He’s excited; we’re both excited,” I said, leaving it at that.

“Does he get to shoot people?” he asked, laughing at himself.

“I mean, if he has to.”

After an uncomfortable silence, he said, “So what was that thing you sent me all about?” Ah yes, there it is, the real reason he called.

I started writing to process through experiences in my life that I wasn’t able to at the time. When those events happened, I was more focused on surviving. I started that a few weeks ago once I realized it forced me to feel the pain I felt in those moments and let it out. Yet, for the past few days, I’d felt stagnant. I needed a place to start writing a story: the story of my dad, Randall Lee Holton. I didn’t know this phone call would be the start of a new story, one I’m hopeful about.

“My writing?” I asked, knowing full well what he was talking about. When he said yes, I asked, “You want to know what my writing is about?” I wanted him to ask a specific question.

“Well, I read some of it.”

“Oh, cool.” I refused to ask what he thought as I didn’t care. I was curious to see what direction this conversation would take. I had published a story of abuse from my past, as well as a story that serves as my official coming out. I was curious to see how he would react to either of those new pieces of information.

“Are those true stories?”

"Yes, all the published ones."

“About your life?”

“Yes.”

“What made you do that?”

“Well, I’ve always written.”

“But why now?”

I chuckled. "Well, they laid me off two months ago," I said. "So I have the opportunity.”

“Do you have someone helping you with this? I don't understand how it all works.”

“Well, I have a friend helping with editing, but the website is mine; I did it myself. And I’m submitting my writing for publishing as well.”

“Oh wow! You made that website yourself? It looks good. I’m glad you have someone helping you; I’m sure it’s a lot of work to try to make a career out of writing, but I’m proud of you! And I’m happy you have Chris there to support you.” This stopped me in my tracks. I wasn’t counting on Randall’s support. I expected an interrogation and some hostility. Randall usually hates it when I discuss my past.

“Well…thanks, I really appreciate that.” I wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“And where did you come up with the name for your site?” Ooh, a curveball. I hadn’t thought about getting to tell him my new name.

“It’s what I changed my name to.”

“Legally?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I filed paperwork.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you could do that. That’s pretty cool. Do you want me to call you Honey, too?”

“I would appreciate it since that will be my name.”

“Okay, sure! I wasn’t positive if you wanted people to change what they’ve referred to you as, but I’m happy to. Where did you come up with the idea?”

I wasn’t ready to give him that kind of vulnerability yet. “It was a personal choice.”

“Okay, fair enough. I’ll be honest, those stories I read were pretty heavy; I didn’t know you'd gone through those things. I’m sorry you did, and I’m here if you ever want to talk about it. They were hard to read. I'm sure they were harder to experience. I want to be here for you as you process it.”

My throat closed and my eyes started to water. These sentences barely scratched the surface of what needed undoing. But, they were all I'd wanted to hear for over a decade. I couldn’t say anything but a meek ‘thank you.’

“So, what about those pictures you sent me the other day?” He was referring to some images I had sent him.

They were text images.

'Signs you were parented through unhealed wounds.'

'If you grew up in a dysfunctional family, you probably thought this was normal.'

I sent these images about two weeks ago. A few days before that, I sent a text about my brother going to this year’s family reunion. He ignored these messages until yesterday. Then, he texted, asking if I still planned to go to the family reunion.

I had planned to go to have real talks with my family about our histories. After reflecting, I realized my real reason for going. It was to avoid guilt and shame. I wanted to escape the thoughts of, "She's going to write about us, and she can't even visit us?" I resolved not to care about people who haven't contacted me in almost 20 years.

When he asked if I was still going, I had meant to ignore him as he had ignored me. But I wasn't doing that anymore. I had replied with, "No, I’m working on my writing,” with a link to the website. Now he had time for a phone call within 24 hours.

"I thought you might want to understand what I've been working on," I replied to his inquiry about the photos.

After another uncomfortable silence, “Is it helping?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Oh yeah, I would say I’m a happy and whole person now.”

“Well, that’s good.” Randall and I are old pros at awkward pauses by this time, even with as little as we do talk. “You sent those with no explanation, and it made me think you were blaming me for all that.”

"That's what I mean. I'm processing these things, a lot due to my childhood with you and Mom. I also thought you would find some of them relatable yourself. I was hoping it would start a conversation. So, to be honest, it hurt when you didn’t respond or call me until today, three weeks later. From my perspective, it seems like you’re avoiding hard conversations. That drives me further away from you.”

“I can get that. I guess I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t know Cameron's not going to the reunion was a big deal.”

“I don’t want to talk about that now. I wanted to talk about it weeks ago when there was still time to talk about him going. Now, there isn’t.”

“Fair enough.”

Another uncomfortable pause. “I don’t know whether I relate or not, but I’d like to understand if it will help you process and move on. "I might not remember everything. I might get defensive, too. I don't like thinking about who I used to be. But, I'll try my best to understand.” I stayed silent and let him continue, as I had never heard him speak like this.“You did accept responsibility for your mistakes, even if they were made out of pain and confusion. So I can do that too, if you’ll give me the opportunity.”

He was referring to a few weeks prior. I had sent him a voice message, crying and apologizing for making it hard and confusing to get close to me. He never responded; I guess this was his acknowledgment of it.

“Of course I will. That’s all I’ve wanted. Not to sweep it under the rug, not to forgive and forget, not to move on, but to actually address it and work through it. I’m not sure what that looks like yet, but I’m here to try."

“Well, if you’re comfortable, you could still come to the reunion. I’d like to see you."

"I felt scared to go. I felt scared we would have this conversation there and it would go horribly. I was--am scared to spend time with you because I can’t hold things in anymore. I’m afraid speaking my mind will make you angry. I know we’re very different people with very different perspectives on a lot of things, and that’s okay. To this point, I have felt it’s okay for you to say what you think and how you feel. The second I open my mouth to do the same, I get this glowering glare or mocked. I can’t have relationships like that anymore. With anyone.” I revealed more than I expected, but it proved my point.

After a silence so long I had to check the call connection, Randall said, “I want you to feel you can say anything to me. I can see how I’ve made it so you don’t feel comfortable doing that, and I’m sorry.”

There it was again, the unprompted apology. This was the second time in only ten minutes. I never expected an apology. A year ago, I tried to start this conversation. The response was, 'I don't remember that. But if I must, I'll apologize.' This was a new side of Randall he had never shown me. I still wouldn't go to the reunion. One good phone call wouldn't change everything. There's still a lot of work to do. For the first time ever with my family, I was hopeful.

“I really appreciate that, Dad,” I said. I had gone into this conversation wondering if I would ever call him that again. I had resolved that when he acted like it, I would give him the title. Right now, he was acting like the dad I’ve always wanted and needed. Imperfect and messy, but willing to be imperfect and messy right along with me.