Squint Test

by CLS Ferguson

I was only visiting for the summer

I had only stacked them next to the old armoire

Hidden from view

One of my faint attempts at sinking into the walls

Until fall swept me back to Louisiana

I thought I had made every attempt for myself and my effects to simply

[Fade away]

Crystal Lane, he called with such authority I was suddenly eight again

Crystal Lane, come in here! 

I have something I want to show you

Though I wanted nothing more than for him to forget my existence

I couldn’t help but obey my father’s command

Even though I was 25 and ABD

Even though I only lived with him for the summers because

            My mother had moved to Tulsa and

Southern California had infected me like

The shingles left over from childhood chicken pox

And I was lucky enough to get a great teaching job at my alma mater

Even though I had discovered we could only have a superficial, civil relationship

Even though I had done everything to simply vanish

Even though I had the power to clearly refuse

[I obeyed]

As I neared his voice I could see that he had taken them

From their polite storage between the old bedroom cabinet and the wall

He had spread them

—expressions from my soul—

near the freshly painted baseboard

Between each of my ignorantly and unapologetic abstract oils on canvas

He placed one of his precise, photographically accurate watercolors

His, perfectly recognizable as its intended image

Mine, only occasionally intended as anything specific—open to any interpretation

His, each in its perfectly coordinated frame behind thick, beveled glass

Mine, sloppily falling onto the edges, some complete with dust from their earlier storage

His, the work of a master artist

Mine, the work of a girl with her emotions on fire

In every other context of my life

I did what I could to stand out

Wore all black, voted Republican, went to traditional Protestant Christian Church

Pierced every part of my body I could think of, but refused to be tattooed

Always fought to be in charge, on top, beating the boys at their own game

Chose Hanson as my favorite band, planned only to adopt, expressed my feelings

And did nothing to hide any of it

But, with my father, I wore the thickest veil I could

So my evaporation could be interpreted as choice

Rather than force

Only the summer before

I had made what I thought was an attempt at a real connection

A true second chance

We looked through my sketchbook together

He read one of my academic conference papers

He was almost complimentary of both

What I don’t understand is, he stated plainly

Why so many of your sketches have symbols of violence

Specifically violence toward women

And why you write about rape

I took the deepest breath my lungs could handle

Because I was raped, Dad

No you weren’t

And one more piece of me fell to abyss of things my father ignored

It was the same reaction as the one I got when

I came home from school after being sober for a month

C’mon, have a glass of wine

My dad’s wife urged at my dad’s birthday dinner

After about an hour of the ‘peer’ pressure

Coupled with questions as to why I kept refusing

I finally blurted out

Because I’m an alcoholic! 

That’s why I can’t have a drink! 

I’m a month sober and I’d like to keep going! 

At least for today!

My dad’s brilliant response

You are not an alcoholic

Even standing up, loud and clear would never be heard by him

So, now as I stood in front of my works of passion

And my dad’s works of art, he said

I want you to see something

He spoke with such enthusiasm that for a moment

I was hopeful he might say something encouraging

Come over here and squint your eyes

First squint at one of my paintings

Then squint at one of yours

See how when you squint at mine, nothing disappears?

And when you squint at yours, things disappear?

I nodded in vague agreement

Desiring nothing more than to return to the guest room I was staying in

Maybe even clad myself in the ugly curtains

In my artwork, my father finally saw something that he didn’t want to deny

Didn’t want to stuff away

Something that I had created

Yet, through his eyes, he couldn’t hold on to it

That’s because your paintings have no depth

* * * * *

CLS Ferguson, PhD is a communication professor who has published many academic articles and two academic books. Her performance in Silence, which she co-wrote and produced earned best actress and best film awards. Her music video Secrets & Lies also earned accolades. CLS has published poetry in Dirty Chai, Sheepshead Review, Drunk Monkeys, etc. Her poetry collection God Bless Paul is out on Rosedog Books, her chapbook, The Way We Were co-authored with JC Jones is out on Writing Knights Press, and her collection Soup Stories is out on Portage Press.  She and husband Rich are raising their daughter and Bernese Mountain Border Collie Mutt in Alhambra, CA. http://clsferguson.wix.com/clsferguson