At last Dad came home, while we were in school, and that evening we were each allowed a few minutes in his room.
A face turned purple.
Mottled and bubbled and lumpen, one eye closed like a boxer’s.
An ogre, a brute, a fairytale monster.
Underneath was my Dad.
Still strong, with hard hands, and black, wavy hair. Continue reading “Old Spice and Cigarette Scented”