Perhaps I could be more...

1. The "roommate"

Every time I glance at her I think to myself, "you know what you did you disrespectful hussy, so don't try and act civil with me." I walked into the apartment to spend the night with my dad and she peered out from her bedroom - draped in her normal attire of a faded T-shirt and flowing shorts that do nothing for her butt; then again, I am sure nothing does (OK, that was mean) - she said nothing to me; and I said nothing to her. There is nothing left to say. She is the other woman formally known as "Dad's new girlfriend" turned "woman he is cheating on" to the now "roommate who won't get the hell out of the house/live-in lady friend my father's current girlfriend knows nothing about" (I know, titles have become so tedious these days). I'm mad at her, still. I can't say I truly forgive her because she is still living in a house with a man whose family she disrespected at the passing of his own mother. bitch. I hate you, slightly. But I realize I am more angry with my father for carrying on with such theatre while every single person that is close to him wishes they could be further away; or maybe closer. Yet, perhaps I should have said "hi" to her. I often wonder if that is what Jesus would have done. Is there a need for civility with this type of woman who possesses no remorse? Even if I thought she deserved it, I sure as hell did not give her that satisfaction. My eyes silently cursed at her whenever she peeked out from her bedroom. Just get out already you lazy broad.

2. The daughter

This L.A. trip is the definition of "awkward." A young man traveling with his father, his father's steady girlfriend, and the girlfriend's seven year-old daughter. Social casualties are lost on a girl with "hair-glitter" juvenilely draped in her chocolate-brown locks. Her eyes wander intently as a young girl's should; they are noticing but not critical, perhaps three steps above vacant with a beauty mark artfully placed under the right eye next to her nose. She knows as much as youth has taught her thus far, which is clearly not quite enough as her squawks of boredom begin falling on deaf ears at the dinner table. She has done nothing wrong, she is an innocent. She playfully jostles with my father while calling him "uncle" and in my head all I can muster up is "asshole." I am uncertain if this is jealousy on my part, I am sure this is just another disgust rooted deeply in my anger towards my father. I don't say much to her, nor does my face gesture acknowledgement much in her direction. I am sure this makes me a bad person; this isn't her fault. There is a little over a week more of awkwardness to be had, but perhaps in the sea of discontent I might find something endearing enough about this child to make social neglect a thing of the past.

3. The relationship

I stammer ungracefully behind a couple experiencing "young love" that has been bestowed upon more seasoned souls as we exit the plane. I have no definition of their dynamic, who knows what kind of kinship they share as he spends time at her Mililani home covered in lies of his time at Special Olympics as he allegedly avoids time at our home. I don't know what to think anymore. Again, I am not mad at her; she has done nothing wrong. In fact, she is a sweet woman buried deep in lies as a man who cannot muster up the courage to "do the right thing" continues to "protect" her from pain. I am still upset at him. As he sleeps a few yards away from me I wish I had the courage to reiterate my thoughts of disdain again; thinking that this time he will actually hear them. A hand still scratched with the mark of drywall glares back at me as I type. It reminds me that I am still capable of losing my temper. I am not violent, I swear. Nobody has ever made me as mad as he did that night. Thank God for sisters who care and understand (I love you, Jenn). I love him, but I feel as though I have lost him. I want so many things; but in order to have those wishes realized I feel as though I cannot be his son anymore. I no longer admire him, for he has dismounted from every moral integrity I feel as though he wanted to instill in me. I will not be like him; I have vowed not to be like him. However, what does forgiveness and respect look like in a situation such as mine?

What's my role?