You There?

'Hello.' He answered tonelessly.

Instantly I knew it was a mistake. I shouldn't have called. I probably would never have, unless some momentary, pointless emotions had taken over me.

'You there?' He asked.

How could someone be so ruthlessly cold? I stared at the award on the table. My roommate's voice, from the hall, reached my ears. She effusively said, 'happy father's day, Dad.'

I slammed the bedroom door. It was her zeal for this day, that had rubbed off on me. How could I forget that my very first memory of this man was him staggering into our house in an inebriated state? I was about to hang up.

'Your mother said you received the 'Best Employee Award'.' His voice bellowed. 'Good job.'

I hung up. The yearning for his love was buried somewhere far beneath the layers of fear, despise and suffering. I couldn't wish him. But those words, the hint of pride and that soft tone, lasting for a fleeting moment - they all marked the beginning of something. A change maybe.