Read Online Rescuing Riley, Saving Myself by Zachary Anderegg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Zachary Anderegg
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his own needs aside and doing what he thinks has to be done, being strong for me. “You shouldn’t be worrying about me. I’m truly grateful for the call, but you should be taking care of yourself. Just be present there. I’m okay.”
After he hangs up, I tell Michelle the news. She looks at me, trying to read me to know what to say or do, but I’m not giving her much information as to my emotional state, probably because I’m not all too clear about it myself. I’m feeling very practical, or maybe numb, or maybe cold-hearted, or some combination of the three. I can’t quite see how the fact that he’s just died is supposed to change my feelings toward him. The facts were the facts, and they spoke for themselves. I can tell that Michelle wants answers from me, but I don’t have any, so rather than stay home, unable to talk to her or answer her questions, I tell her I need to go to the gym. I kiss her goodbye, and I know she understands why I need to be alone. I tell her she should call somebody if she needs to talk, maybe even my mom.
At the gym, I do thirty minutes of circuit training, not focusing on any one thing. I felt strange, thinking, I’m the same guy I was when I was here yesterday, except now I don’t have a father. But something always happens when I work out. Something about keeping my body occupied and challenging it to perform always clears my mind. It’s not that while I work out, I try consciously to think of the things I need to do or the answers to my question, but rather, when I’m working out, the answers just come to me.
I realize my family will be coming together, physically and emotionally. They all live in the Milwaukee/Racine area and will probably be getting together at someone’s house. I should be there with them. My resentment toward my father has not diminished, but it’s time to put it on the shelf for a while.
As I finished my dinner at McDonald’s, I briefly wished I had a gym I could go to, even though I was certain I’d be getting all the exercise I needed tomorrow. The gym is probably one of the few places on Earth where I feel at home and at ease. I remembered my father’s funeral, how so many people came, a line forming outside the funeral home that went back to the street and around the corner at the end of the block, and how highly respected he was as an X-ray technician by the people who worked with him. People kept telling me how intelligent and organized he was, and I thought that if I’m intelligent or orderly, perhaps I inherited those genes from him. I wondered how many of the people at the funeral knew he’d left my mother with a sixteen-week-old baby to marry the woman he was having an affair with, but I said nothing.
The boy and his dad left. I realized eating at McDonald’s and seeing the two of them had afforded me this insight—I understood why I was unable to abandon the dog. I would not do to him, or to anyone, what my father did to me. I would not become like him. I wasn’t proving it to him, as if I had some sort of magical or mystical idea that he was looking down from heaven, watching me. I wasn’t proving anything to myself, either, because I felt no need. It was simple. I knew what the right thing to do was, so I had to do it.
The question was, how?
On my way back to the motel, I called Michelle to fill her in since our last conversation from the general store. She heard the outrage in my voice when I told her I thought somebody had intentionally abandoned the dog. I told her how I’d left him with food and water, and how it looked like I’d be on my own, trying to get him out.
“How are you doing?” she said. “You don’t sound so good.”
I told her about the kittens in the sofa, and that the whole day had been enormously upsetting, a lot of emotional ups and downs.
“You’re taking a lot on,” she said. “You do that.”
“It’ll be all right.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
“You know me. I overthink
After he hangs up, I tell Michelle the news. She looks at me, trying to read me to know what to say or do, but I’m not giving her much information as to my emotional state, probably because I’m not all too clear about it myself. I’m feeling very practical, or maybe numb, or maybe cold-hearted, or some combination of the three. I can’t quite see how the fact that he’s just died is supposed to change my feelings toward him. The facts were the facts, and they spoke for themselves. I can tell that Michelle wants answers from me, but I don’t have any, so rather than stay home, unable to talk to her or answer her questions, I tell her I need to go to the gym. I kiss her goodbye, and I know she understands why I need to be alone. I tell her she should call somebody if she needs to talk, maybe even my mom.
At the gym, I do thirty minutes of circuit training, not focusing on any one thing. I felt strange, thinking, I’m the same guy I was when I was here yesterday, except now I don’t have a father. But something always happens when I work out. Something about keeping my body occupied and challenging it to perform always clears my mind. It’s not that while I work out, I try consciously to think of the things I need to do or the answers to my question, but rather, when I’m working out, the answers just come to me.
I realize my family will be coming together, physically and emotionally. They all live in the Milwaukee/Racine area and will probably be getting together at someone’s house. I should be there with them. My resentment toward my father has not diminished, but it’s time to put it on the shelf for a while.
As I finished my dinner at McDonald’s, I briefly wished I had a gym I could go to, even though I was certain I’d be getting all the exercise I needed tomorrow. The gym is probably one of the few places on Earth where I feel at home and at ease. I remembered my father’s funeral, how so many people came, a line forming outside the funeral home that went back to the street and around the corner at the end of the block, and how highly respected he was as an X-ray technician by the people who worked with him. People kept telling me how intelligent and organized he was, and I thought that if I’m intelligent or orderly, perhaps I inherited those genes from him. I wondered how many of the people at the funeral knew he’d left my mother with a sixteen-week-old baby to marry the woman he was having an affair with, but I said nothing.
The boy and his dad left. I realized eating at McDonald’s and seeing the two of them had afforded me this insight—I understood why I was unable to abandon the dog. I would not do to him, or to anyone, what my father did to me. I would not become like him. I wasn’t proving it to him, as if I had some sort of magical or mystical idea that he was looking down from heaven, watching me. I wasn’t proving anything to myself, either, because I felt no need. It was simple. I knew what the right thing to do was, so I had to do it.
The question was, how?
On my way back to the motel, I called Michelle to fill her in since our last conversation from the general store. She heard the outrage in my voice when I told her I thought somebody had intentionally abandoned the dog. I told her how I’d left him with food and water, and how it looked like I’d be on my own, trying to get him out.
“How are you doing?” she said. “You don’t sound so good.”
I told her about the kittens in the sofa, and that the whole day had been enormously upsetting, a lot of emotional ups and downs.
“You’re taking a lot on,” she said. “You do that.”
“It’ll be all right.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
“You know me. I overthink
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