by M&CNICFYYY2K
As soon as I hook up the phone, it starts ringing. How crazy is that? What's even crazier is that I know who it is.
"Hey dad." I don't bother asking him how he got this number. I don't have this number. I just hooked up the phone, for God's sake.
"No, haven't done it yet. I'll d--" Oh boy, here we go. "Dad, I can unpack my all stuff in like point-zero-zero-two seconds. I'll do it later, okay?"
Even if he's being a fascist fuck, I can tell when he's worried about me. Not that I can blame him, considering. But, fuck -- I'm twenty-two. I can take care of myself.
More routine questions. "Some chick. No powers, I think, just a... Yes, a female. Naaaah, she's gay. Yes, dad, they let gays in now." He starts telling me about the Rainbow Warrior controversy, back in his day. "Dad, that doesn't mean every gay member the big boys kick out is gonna kidnap a satellite and threaten to sterilize a continent with a giant ray. I think she'd just roast everyone's weiner, plain and simple."
After nine minutes of awkward conversation, he's finally run out of dull topics to keep me on the line. It'd be a lot easier if he'd just told me he wants to talk, instead of dwelling on stuff like the weather and public transportation in the big city. He's got a story about 'the good old days' for each one of these topics, by the way... courtesy of his tendency to fight gimmicky villains, like Weatherman or Bus Boy.
We're about to call it a night, when he insists on telling me to unpack my stuff. "Yeah, I just did it. It's all set up," I lie, unwilling to stretch the agony any further. "Dad...?"
Suddenly, I feel a much-too-familiar slap on the back of my head. I turn around, and the window is open. On the other side of the line, my dad tells me to get off my ass, unpack my shit, and stop lying to him. He hangs up.
Even after all that, I can't help smiling. It must have taken him at least three seconds to cross the five states between us. That's kinda cute.