I’d sit down at the foot of his bed and take off my jacket.
He’d close the door behind him and complain about something.
Whatever it was, I didn’t care. He was always complaining.
He’d take off his jacket.
I’d look at the flags on his wall and chuckle a bit.
A Confederate flag on the right,
And a Wehrmacht flag to its left.
A small picture of Adolf Hitler was taped below the Wehrmacht flag.
The floor was disgusting.
It was once white, but stained yellow by time and god-knows-what-else.
There was a pool of crust by his bed that always made me gag.
He’d take off his shoes.
He’d turn on his console and start playing something,
Usually Rainbow 6 or Battlefront.
He didn’t have anything we could both play together,
So I’d try to cuddle with him.
Eventually, we’d talk.
It was only rarely about race,
Instead exploring history
Or laughing about bipartisanship.
Sometimes it got philosophical,
Usually it was just a list of complaints we both had.
And after a while,
He’d take his shirt off.
His facial hair would prick me when our lips connected.
It irritated me that he never shaved,
While I always made myself hairless just for him.
Pants off, then undergarments.
(You know what happens next.)
Undergarments on, then pants.
“I wish you were a girl,” he’d say.
I’d roll my eyes and think the same thing about him,
But I wasn’t as rude, so I wouldn’t say it aloud.
We’d put our shirts on.
We’d wish we had women instead of each other,
And we’d probably say that out loud,
Then the conversation would go somewhere else.
We’d eat dinner, if we hadn’t already,
And I’d ask when he’d give my Christmas gift.
I gave him a book on war planes,
And I hoped he’d give some sort of costume.
The conversation went elsewhere,
Just as I expected.
And as always it was just history
Or another list of complaints.
We’d put on our shoes.
I’d laugh and say, “Bye, Daddy H!”
To the picture of Hitler.
He’d laugh.
We’d put on our jackets,
And get in the car.
As he drove me home, we didn’t say much.
We looked out our own windows and wished we had something else.