Page 34 of The Bump

I wake up from a nap, still in the car, and check my watch. I’d closed my eyes for a second and now it’s forty-five minutes later?!

The sun seems even hotter now.

I must’ve been sleeping sitting upright, like a mannequin with its mouth open.

The weed has coursed through my body: hysterical laughter, unable to move, and then finally, sleep. My head feels fuzzy but at least I no longer feel totally under the influence. I can concentrate on having a conversation. I clear my throat and wish I’d brought some water. The car is even out of snacks.

I step out of Virginia Woolf and walk down the sidewalk when it suddenly occurs to me that I’m betraying my mom’s trust. Maybe we should’ve discussed this before I meet him. It’s painful to think about hurting my mom but I have so many questions about my own father before becoming one myself.

The pristine walkway to the house suggests a similar neat and orderly personality that could easily have the same handwriting as my father’s letters.

My finger pushes the doorbell and I mutter to myself, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

I look behind me and almost take off running until I hear footsteps and the front door unlocking.

That’s when my father opens the door.