The Visit

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: November 23, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 23, 2017



‘After 900 meters, turn left. Then, drive 50 meters. Your destination will be on the right.’


I was close. Close enough to begin talking myself out of it, finding any excuse to make a U-Turn and head back home. He doesn’t want to see me, I reasoned. He made that clear when we last spoke. Yet, no matter how hard I tried to stop myself, I found that my body had a mind of its own. Every time I told myself to reset the destination on the GPS, my eyes would lock themselves on the road, staring down every last one of those dreaded nine hundred meters.


‘After 600 meters, turn left. Then, drive 50 meters. Your destination will be on the right.’


8 years. 8 years ago, 650 meters from here, was the last time I had spoken to my father. So much had happened, in such little time. I could still remember, almost 9 years back, when he brought his work friend, Barbara, home. I remembered how I stayed at home alone, as he spent more and more time with her, desperate to fill the hole in his life that my real mother had left behind.


‘Warning. Critically low battery.’


Barbara wanted me out of the house, and his life. She made these subtle hints to kick me out, claiming she wanted to ‘make me independant’. I thought my Dad would tell her she was being ridiculous, and stick with me. But he started to side with her.


‘After 300 meters, turn left. Then, drive 50 meters. Your destination will be on the right.’


I could still remember the standoff that had happened in the living room. After months of tension building between us, with Dad caught in between. Shouting. Flinging obscenities at each other. Trapping my father between me and Barbara. A relationship of love, or of lust. Looking at my dad, trusting him, begging him to make the right decision. Watching as he looked straight at me and opened his mouth, ready to say those words that would bring everything back to normal.


‘After 100 meters, turn -’


James, Barbara is right. Leave this house. Don’t come back. I stood stone faced, unable to process what he had just said.


‘Recalculating... Error. Shutting down in 10...’


I turn left. I can almost see the garden, where I had spent so much of my childhood playing in, whether it had been swinging on the stiff swing set, or hunting for snails by the porch.




I look at my phone, at the message from my granddad, the sole reason that I’m here.


‘Anthony and Barbara divorcing.’




Would he accept me back? Did he feel remorse? Or did some part of him still detest me, a reminder of all the failures in his life?


Parking my car on the side of the road, turning to face the house. I slowly make my way to the fence surrounding the front, where the paint is chipped, creating a mural of brown and white.  




Silence. I gently push open the gate, as a slow, long groan greets me. The iron of the swing set is rusted, having been untouched for nearly a decade.


I collect my thoughts, and walk to the front door.






Footsteps from inside. The door remains unanswered. I wait there. One minute, two minutes. An eternity. Just when I have given up hope, when I realise that he doesn’t want me back, the creak of the door knob turning catches my attention. I turn around, to face the open door. I look at my father, tears spilling out of his widened eyes, as he says the very words I had wanted him to say since that fateful day, 8 long years ago.


I’m sorry.


© Copyright 2018 Aryan Govil. All rights reserved.

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