Free Tears on a Sunday Afternoon by Michael Presley Page A

up with emptiness.” Tears started to fall from her eyes as she held onto the top of the chair. “I can’t eat a thing.”
    I quickly got up and sat her down on a chair before returning to mine. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll take care of everything.”
    “Donald, don’t go and do anything stupid. Remember, you have your son to think about.”
    “I know, Mom. I merely plan to talk to him. I want him to know that I’m alive.”
    I had stopped eating to look at my grandmother. I could see that I had brought up some terrible memories. She shook her head profusely and kept wringing her hands.
    “He killed my only daughter.” Grandma stared up at the picture of my mother. “For years, there has been an emptiness in my heart because of it. You helped a lot, but I sometimes miss your mother so much that I still cry to this very day.”
    I rose and placed my hands around my grandmother’s shoulders, tapping her ever so gently. Inside my heart, a rage was building against my father. In creating me, he had destroyed so much. I’m sure that once my mom had left the penitentiary, he must have gone back to life as usual. I clenched my fists to hold back the tears I now wished to share with my grandmother. I also clenched my fists because I wanted to kill my father. I didn’t know him and I hated his presence on this earth.
    My grandmother took some deep breaths and wiped the tears away from her eyes. “Forgive me, Son.”
    “Mom, stop it. There isn’t anything to forgive you for.”
    I pulled my chair closer to her and held her hand, as time slowly ticked away. Besides my son, my grandmother was the only family I had left. She had given me so much and whatever I had done for her was never enough. I had planned a trip to upstate Albany the following day with hopes of finding some kind of resolution. I had always wanted to find my father, but not for a tear-jerking Oprah reunion. I wanted to find him and punish him for bringing me into the world the way that he did. He had destroyed in order to create, then walked away from his creation. I wasn’t the product of a sailor or a priest; I was the product of a rapist. It was a label that I carried in my heart throughout my life; unbeknownst to the people around me. Julie was the only person who knew my true origin.

    “No, Emerald, Julie isn’t coming with us today,” I said as we pulled out of the driveway.
    It was a hard lesson, but Emerald had come to realize that his mother and I would not be attending too many events together. Except for special occasions, like birthdays or gathering at his grandparents’ house, he would either be with me and Julie or only me. I hated the occasions when Lauren and Annette took my son but, as with many things in my life, at present I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. There were no fucking two mommies in Emerald’s life. There was a mommy, a daddy and a thing. A woman acting and dressing like a man, but not a man; even if she hit like one.
    “Daddy, do you know how they make animated films?” Emerald was the first one out of the car. He waited as I secured the vehicle opposite a pizza restaurant on Court Street.
    I clasped his hand in mine. “I assume that they’re made with computers, Emerald.”
    “Daddy, you’re silly. It’s a lot more involved than that.” He giggled in delight of his knowledge as we walked across Court Street.
    “Well, tell me what’s involved in making animated movies.”
    “Okay.” A big smile spread over his face. As we rode up to the movie theater, Emerald explained the animation process to me to the amazement of the people in the elevator. At the end of the ride, a white, middle-aged woman, with a boy about eight years old, stopped us as we were getting off.
    “I hate to be rude, but how old is your son?” she asked.
    “He’s four,” I said.
    She was astounded. “No kidding? My son can barely read the menu in a restaurant and your son gave us a lesson in animation.”
    There wasn’t