Dad at 9:15 Vera Filenko (bio) Click for larger view View full resolution [End Page 16] Click for larger view View full resolution In this fraught meeting between father and daughter, a woman rescues what she can from an estranged relationship. two weeks ago, when i saw my father, i wrote, "dear diary, this morning when i met my father, we hadn't seen each other in five years? six? i have no clue." seeing my father is always an event—it happens so rarely that i want to capture it (do i really?) in a photo or a note in a diary that i gave up keeping many years ago. so the other day i met him and wrote: "dear diary, this morning i met my father, we hadn't seen each other in five years? six? i have no clue." i couldn't remember how old his daughters were—thirteen? seventeen? the eldest is apparently more than seventeen—she studies in warsaw as an accountant (the first thought i had was, awww, it's so like my dad—to send a girl abroad for an accountant diploma; later, i remembered that when i was eighteen, he told me he couldn't afford to let me go to vilnius, and i'd swallowed that bullshit, though i knew for sure he had enough money to send me wherever he wanted—he just didn't want to do anything for his ex-family; but when he told me about my stepsister, i could only think "good for you, girl, run, run"); but i am procrastinating, it's difficult to start this story, like entering ice-cold water with a severe hangover; so we hadn't seen each other for many years, i cannot recall under what circumstances we'd met the last time. someone's funeral? signing papers? at a café? (an impossible scenario, i'd rather meet a dinosaur there than my father, though he's a dino in a certain way. i'm thinking of an old joke about a blonde being asked, what are the chances of meeting a dino in the red square, and she says: "i will either meet it or not, so it's fifty-fifty." so it's fifty-fifty.) he used to bring me an envelope with cash for my birthdays until i turned twenty, now he just calls me, much to the delight of both sides. this time he called me as well and we got into a warm conversation. we talked about covid and masks and vaccines and shit. for a moment i even decided he missed me and told him something like "maybe we could meet someday, i need your advice with work" (i always knew that he would react to a business matter faster than to any other), and he said, let's try, maybe within the next two weeks. we finished the conversation, and i felt high. he was the first person who called me to say "happy birthday," and it felt important and exciting (even the moment when he said with unpleasant surprise, how old are you? thirty-five? he didn't remember, so i told him the truth—i knew it would scare him, and I did it to spite him, and i was right. aging is the power i have over him.) he called me a couple of days later saying that he finally had time to talk. i wasn't ready at all: i was pulling on pants running to the gym, so offered to call him back after my workout, but, as it turned out, i was late. cue household tasks, dinner, clients, you name it. he talked to me in a cold voice and said i was too late, he was having dinner, and no, we couldn't meet because of covid and shit, maybe later, in may, so what was your question? i said, nothing urgent, i just miss you and want to see you, that's it. the conversation ended, and i felt empty and stupid, as always, though, whenever we talk. a week later i found out that my cousin was sick. it was the hardest covid...