Page 107 of Sharkbait
I’m stroking her hair.
Aside from the day my daughter was born, I can honestly say I’ve never been so happy.
I sniffle.
She lifts her head to look at me.
“Are you sniffling?”
“Nah.” I joke and wipe the moisture escaping from my eye because it’s clear I’ve been caught.
“You are!” she accuses with glee. “You’re crying watchingSplash?”
“Aren’t you the one who said it’s ‘so freaking sad when Tom Hanks rejects her in that tank while holding his little pee-pee?’”
“That was me, yes,” she laughs.
“I’d just like to mention—since Tom isn’t here to defend himself—that there’s no evidence leading me to believe he would have a ‘little pee-pee.’”
“I dunno…” She purses her lips like she’s deep in thought. “Something about the way he’s standing there all shy and cupping his member? Seemed like the stance of aguy with a little pee-pee.” She shrugs, then rests her arms across my chest and props her chin up. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that now, would you?”
“Thankfully, no. I would not.”
I kiss her softly on the lips.
“So, you’re a crier, huh?”
“Hell yeah, I’m a crier!” I say proudly. “You gotta get that shit out.”
“What shit?”
“All the shit we build up inside ourselves on a daily basis. If we’re not careful, we layer it, and layer it, stacking one pile of unprocessed junk on top of the other until we become these thick, stony, immovable people who can’t feel a single thing. I think the world, in general, would be better off if we all committed to having a ‘cry of the day.’”
She laughs.
“I’m serious,” I say.
“Oh. I’m sorry. You just—You always seem so happy-go-lucky.”
“Maybe that’s because I get in my cry of the day.” I raise my eyebrows in a “gotcha” expression.
Her eyes narrow. “You’re telling me you cry every day?”
I shrug. “Mostly. Yeah.”
“That’s so sad!”
“Nah. It’s cathartic.”
“And surprising!”
“Really? You’re surprised?”
She sits up and wraps the blanket around herself. “Come on. You have to realize how rare that is. A man who not only cries on the regular but also proudly admits it?”
“I guess that’s one thing my dad did right. He wasn’t a guy who could deal with his own feelings, but he made sure I was hooked up with all the therapists after my mom died, so I could deal with mine.”
“He wasn’t?” She tilts her head to the side.
