Tuesday, March 9

A devil meaning well



First time I met my father Frank I was six years old. It was an indiansummer that year, the sun kept on providing heat and the autum was waiting although Octobre had already came along with it's promise of fall. But even the leafs where still hangin on to the trees, the ground was clean and I had a innocent heart. Mother put red lipstick on her lips for hours, glanzing at the mirror to make sure her hair was perfect (it always was) and the stereo played Rolling Stones which I knew mother wasn't a fan of. She was more of a Aretha Franklin kind of woman, so it must have been for him. Just like the lipstick, and cupcakes on the kitchen table.

He came in a black convertible, with his dark hair short on the sides just like James Dean and a cigarette in his half open mouth. I can still picture it, maybe because he looked just the same when he picked me up at LAX a couple of weeks a go. Mother threw herself in his arms, and he lifted her up from the ground making her red soles show underneath. She was happy, and the soundtrack to this moviescene was Gimmie Shelter, suiting wasn't it?

Then he took his black wayfarers of, looked at me and said Hey Kid. And I've loved him ever since, no matter how much he disapointed me later on. I guess daughter and father- bonds are often stronger than the mother-daughter bond will ever be. At least in my case.

(Darlings, it has come to my attention that some of you are so kind as to link to my blog. Don't do it in silence, please, I want to know so that I can thank you. Email me, write to me on facebook, comment here. anything!)

15 comments:

leviana coccia. said...

I love that quote!

This post made me smile :)

Anise said...

beautiful <3

JenniAsh said...

1. I like the quotation.
2. Good Post, I like the description. It adds so much meaning to it.

:)

x

Caplyst said...

I love the post. I enjoy your blog. I am so jealous that I couldn't write like this at 18. I say I too much.

Be my lover? Circle, Yes or No

what takes me 750 words to express you do in 175 that is excellent stuff.

les jeune fille à les oiseaux said...

they say blood runs deep. i say relationships run deeper.
and i would love to see you. you must be psychic- plum wine is my favorite ;)

apparellel said...

oh i love this! your mother putting on her red lipstick, and the stones, for him. her red soles (louboutin's) showing and the gimmie shelter soundtrack. wow.

my grandpa who was like a father to me used to call me "hey kiddo" anytime i hear anyone say that i want to cry.

beautiful writing gorgeous. and thank you for your concern. i've lost my whole family on my biological fathers (i wish he would die) side of the family within the past couple of years. the last was my brother, my age (a month ago). i feel abandoned. it just hit. anyway sorry for the vent session. feeling a bit better today.

mwah.
xxx
t

Susan said...

I love this post. my father died when I was 17 and even though he wasn't a good father, I still miss him.
xoxo

Riff Dog said...

Really great imagery. All your FfF posts are very powerful, in fact.

And since I rarely do anything in silence, I am indeed letting you know you've been added to my blogroll. You'll be sorry! ;-)

The F Word Online said...

the quote is so true - we should def let the ppl we care about know how we feel more reguarly =)

xx lue

Helga said...

Such beautifully visual writing!!I hang on your every word.Sorrowful as some of it is,each tear is a diamond.

Heather Taylor said...

This could be a movie, Belle. Frank sounds like such a charmer...please tell us more about the past. It is intriguing.

sanchez said...

I loved that.
(I just found your blog and I am now a proud follower!)

:D

look forward to reading!

s + b said...

great quote. i love your writing - i can very much picture your father, your mother, and you as a little girl.

Schnappy said...

Hi! Cool post! :)

claret said...

You write beautifully! More please :-)