California Queen

Heat radiated through the curtainless windows, already unbearable though it was barely eight o’clock. Andy wiped the sweat from his forehead, irritated that they still didn’t have air conditioning. Too expensive, his Dad had said.

He moved to the open window at the front of the house, hoping to find a breeze there, when he saw him. Leaning over the busted up Lincoln, scrubbing the dusty windscreen. Pale blue tank top, tight against his bulky frame, and a candy pink miniskirt. The cheap kind you get at Walmart. A fucking John Waters beauty queen.

Hot fury blazed from his chest. “Dad!”. His father turned, looking at him dazedly. “Get in the damn house!”

Andy stepped across towards the front door as his father entered. “The whole street can see you!” Disgust and disappointment filled him. “Why do you have to do this? Do you know what people say to me about you?”.

His father said nothing.

Andy moved to the living room, flopping on the sofa, crossing his arms. His father sat down beside him, placing a hand gently on Andy’s knee.

“I know this is hard, buddy”.

Andy wrenched his leg away. “You don’t know shit!”

“But I do”. Andy looked at his father. At his gentle expression.

“I know you, Andy”. He leaned forward. “I just want people to know me too. The real me”. Andy took a deep breath, stuffing his resentment down.

Like he always did.

His father smiled. “I’ll call the air-con guy”.