In the bar up the road, I was drinking with my Dad.

It was winter break, and I had just turned twenty-one the month before. We were getting drunk to the point where inner thoughts and things left unsaid were coming out. About that time when the cover band ended its same old final song, and people were succumbing to the abyss of tomorrow or looking for some place else to keep their night alive. My father broke the suffocating silenceYou can go farther, he paused to ready himself for an entire sentence, You can go farther than I ever could. I was too drunk to spare myself from an awkward conversation. But he saw my expression, and I couldnt manage any subtlety. No, he spurted, Im serious. I was born- and the words meandered away from him. He looked to me for the meaning- you know this I did. He was born in the Philly slums. He sold pot when he was twelve years old and carried weapons to defend himself from the gangs that patrolled each block. Too poor for college, he worked his whole life- all the way up to middle class. He told me all these stories, and by then I knew them almost as well as he did. I had understood why he brought his toughness into my upbringing. However, our mouths werent ready for this kind of talk. I dont know if, I contributed waveringly, Ill be able to live. Did he understand?

He closed his eyes, carefully nodded his head, and opened them again. He understood. I would be coming out of college in a couple of years with the burden of my childhood dreams staring me in the face. I feared the reality would be much less glorious. I worried about living in the now versus where I would start my professional life. By the time I could get my obligatory Masters and pay off all my debt, Id be in my thirties. My youth would be long gone and Id be expected to anchor down with a family. Id be ten years closer to death. Trying to feel something, I dug a fingernail into my cheek. Nothing. Trust me, he swallowed and pulled his chin back- Youll have time and money to do stuff. Then smiled like he was about to laugh. What? I smiled too, getting ready for something funny. That girls looking at you. I looked to the left and saw a thirtysomething year old woman smile at me at the end of the bar. She was turning a wedding ring around her finger by the diamond stud, looking fallen in the sterile glow. I rolled my eyes and swung my head back at Dad. What am I suppos to do, take er home with us? I snorted in laughter. I said that way too loud. She can take you home, my dad offered in half-jest. Shes married, I answered. He shrugged his shoulders. By then, we had resigned ourselves to the next day.

Ah, lets go home, he said, and asked for the check. We got our coats and slowly walked around the bar toward the exit, and the woman said goodbye to us as we passed. When my dad opened the door, the chill air of winter burst in, and with the edge off our senses, it felt nice and cool for a moment. I headed out into the icy parking lot first, slowly and barely oriented, and turned around to look back at my Dad. Wait up, he said. We bumbled down toward the suburban crosswalk and waited for the light to turn red, like dogs. When it did, we stepped over the snow and hurried before the light could turn green. Past the road, we crossed into the entrance of our development. Because the sidewalk wasnt shoveled, we had to walk on the left side of the down-sloped entrance way. Snow from the road-plows collected up against the curb and pushed in a few feet. We jogged down the empty street, laughing like kids and swaying like drunks. My Dad pushed me, and I flew down with all my inertia into the snow. I lay in the bank giggling until he gave his hand to help me up. When we were both standing, I tackled him like in my high school football days, and he wasnt very hard to bring down. The fresh silence thereafter renewed our faith in the magic of things.