The Talented Mr. Ripley
Once in a blue moon, the truth of shines through…
The afternoon sweltered, sunshine eking into every corner and crevice to drain sweat from formerly-unopened pores. I climbed into my father’s burnt orange Dodge pickup truck and sank into the seat, thankful for the liberating ice-cold air shooting through the vents pointed at my face. Seatbelt buckled, my father and I’s daily ritual began.
He took the long way to gymnastics practice, not that there was a shorter way to cut across the city. His blond hair hung across his eyes as he sighted the first cloud, bulging with heavy rain carried in its middle. “A sumo wrestler,” he said, cracking a wide, white smile.
We each pointed out shapes in the ever-present clouds crowding the cornflower blue Florida sky, laughing at the silly ones and fussing over the shapes that seemed more idea than reality. A coffee cup with with a wisp of steam rising from its lip. A reposed woman, arm curved gracefully above her head. A doorway, large and rectangular and out of place.
Every once in a while, it would take a moment for me to see the ideas lurking in the clouds, a moment of confusion before the clarity of the picture came through to my searching eyes.
My father and I were like that. Our relationship was muddy, cloudy, hard for outsiders…
