I decided it was time to pay my dad a visit. I had a couple of days off, so I gave him a quick call to let him know laundry was coming. He was overjoyed and impatient, but reminded me to “drive the maximum speed caution.”

When I was home we tended to fall into a predictable routine. During the day I would do chores and little things around the house, while he went and tinkered in the garage with his model airplanes. At night we watched TV together or popped in a Star Wars DVD if nothing good was on.

While I was working my way through cleaning the bathroom, I noticed a few prescription bottles I hadn't seen before. From reading the warning on the label, I thought they were blood pressure medications. Worried, I stood in the bathroom, trying to remember if Dad had mentioned anything to me on the phone. I hadn't been paying close attention during our phone calls since he was usually lecturing me.

I was pretty sure he hadn't said anything.

I stormed out to the garage and banged on the door. “Dad!”

I heard a crash and a thump, and he swore loudly, “Schiesse!”

“Dad! Are you okay? I’m coming in!”

“No! Wait a moment.” Dad was really private about his man cave, even though he had the whole house to himself. He saw it on some TV program years ago and loved the idea. Said it was very American.

He rustled around, and I heard some more banging before he came to the door of the garage.

“What are you doing in there? I thought you were building a model,” I said suspiciously. Plus, my birthday wasn’t for another couple of months.

“I am. And you startled me, so I hit my leg. Don’t shout, Pale. It’s rude.” He glared at me from the sliding door that he had cracked open. His glasses had slid down his nose, leaving a sweaty line on the bridge, and his normally salt-and-pepper colored hair was now covered in a fine sheen of dust. His blue eyes were curious, though.

“Don’t give me the dirty look, Dad. I just found this.” I thrust the bottle under his nose.

“Oh, this? This is nothing, just a little something from my doctor at my last check-up. My blood pressure was a little high. Why are you so upset?” he asked, opening the door a little more to allow his hand to reach out, where he grabbed the bottle and hastily stuffed it in his flannel shirt pocket.

I reached into his pocket and pulled the evidence back out.

“Because you didn’t tell me about this! You’re hiding it, and that means something is wrong. Is something wrong? Are you okay? What happened at the check-up? What did the doctor say? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I fired off, frustrated. I gave the garage door a little shove in my anger.

“Now Pale, stop it. This is why I don’t tell you things, because you get all obsessive. It’s always like this, when you care. Nothing is wrong; it was just a little high, so now I take a dumb pill every day, ok? Calm down, and don’t get all Wookie on me.”

“Dad. Just…don’t keep things from me, ok? I couldn’t stand it if something were to happen to you.” I choked up on this last part. Seeing those pills really scared me. He’s only 60 years old, for God’s sake!

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“Oh, sweetheart.” He pulled me into a tight hug, and despite the cascade of dust that fell all over my clothes and face, I hugged him back fiercely.

“I couldn’t stand anything to happen to you, either,” he whispered. My eyes teared up a little, and we broke apart awkwardly.

“Anything else I’m going to find inside?” I asked, changing the subject to something light. “A zoot suit, maybe a Tommy gun? Are you working for the Modesto mob?” I joked. Only someone who had been to Modesto would have known how laughable this was.

“Zoot suit? No, no mob for me. Clown suit maybe. A red nose, who knows?” He laughed at his terrible pun.

I rewarded this with a deadpan look. “Ok, ok. I’m headed back inside. Love you, Papa.”

“I love you too,” he said softly, retreating back into the garage.

I returned to the house, and put the bottle back in the medicine cabinet. I stared at it for a long time, feeling vulnerable. I didn’t like how casual he was being about this.

I decided to keep a closer eye on him, and to make sure to ask him about it during our phone calls. I wasn’t going to move back home just yet, but I was still worried. What could possibly be giving my gentle and steady dad high blood pressure?

¤ ¤ ¤

Back in San Francisco, I took advantage of an afternoon off to visit Washington Square, a mini-park in North Beach that I had always really liked. It wasn’t very big and had a quaint, neighborhood feel, even though it was in the middle of a tourist section of town. I sat on a park bench, people-watching.

The spring nights weren’t very warm in the Bay Area; the fog rolled over the city in the evening, and stayed until mid-day, only exposing the sun for about five or six hours at a time. It wasn’t particularly biting cold either, so there were still some brave souls out in the late afternoon. Two guys were playing Frisbee, a few couples were sitting on blankets, and several kids were running around, squealing and laughing.

My mind drifted to Felix. I thought about his birthday. I wondered what he would’ve liked, if I'd had time to get him something. I wondered if he had gotten in touch with his sisters and what they might have surprised him with.

As I got to know him better, it became glaringly obvious that he grew up in a house full of women. He never got icked out by talk about PMS and tampons. He never pulled any macho stuff in the office by talking badly about the Tarts. He often walked one of us to our car at night, sometimes holding open doors for no reason at all. He never bet on which girl was going to get drunk. That last one probably had a story behind it, given that he all but bit my head off when I train-wrecked THAT conversation.

Even though he expressly told me there was no romance in the future, I couldn’t help it: I had the deepest crush on him. He was a bit weird, but he was my kind of weird.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the chilly fog rolled in, leading my fellow park-goers to hastily pack up and drift away, off to fulfill their dinner plans. Soon the entire area would be filled with winos and the homeless, while the rest of North Beach would come alive with the pulse of sex, danger, and stolen opportunities.

I'd be back in that river of urban intrigues soon enough, but I had a little bit of me-time left, so I decided to grab a square of pizza at Golden Boy, rumored to be a great local hole to get a perfect, greasy slice.

I heard the tinkle of the doorbell as I walked in, and glanced up at a shockingly beautiful girl, casually dressed in jeans and a tight shirt that showed a hint of voluptuous breasts, peeking out from under a half-open flannel shirt. I stood there, gaping.

She gave me a big grin. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’ll have a slice of the pepperoni,” I stammered. “Thanks.”

“It’s $3.50, but for you, on the house.” She winked at me, and handed me a square on a sheet of wax paper.

“Why? I’ve never even been in here before!” I actually blushed.

“Yeah, but you’re really cute. My name is Fred.” She accepted money from another customer and handed him a cheese slice.

“Your name is Fred? Really? Is that something I should ask about?” I laughed.

“If you want to, but my name really is Fred. And you are?”

“Oh! Sorry, my name is Pale. I also work this area as a Tawny Tart, but have never been in here during the day.”

“Well, we are open late, 'til about 2:30 a.m. If I’m working, slices are always free for you.” She winked at me again, then moved to take care of a rush of customers that came in. I blushed again, and went eat at the bar.

I enjoyed myself a few more minutes, hearing conversation flow around me, then strolled out the door. As I exited, Fred gave me a wave, and I waved back.

It was time to get my stuff and drive to work. I floated home, feeling content with my day and daydreaming of Felix.