The man who waited in his white Cadi

He is back in town to see his kids, for their Xmass break. I hear it from Daee H, of course since he doesn't call us when he comes.

I have various emotions towards him. I pity him sometime for the sad, horrifying person that he has become at his age, for all the rage he has taken inside him all of his life...pathetic. And I resent him for all the words he has said to my parents.

Sometimes I miss him, but soon I realize I miss that man who used to wait outside of Mark Twain Jr. High School in Venice, California in his white Cadillac and take me home, and teach me English and tell me not to worry if I don't understand it now... that soon I will be very fluent. The man who taught me to always have a $10 bill around...just in case...just in case.

The man who used to study for the bar exam he never passed, while having a cigarette every 30 minutes. (God, is he also living through me since I passed the monstrous exam that he never did)

The single hip man who wore a white suit with ultimate chic cream shoes one day, in 1985 in Tehran, and picked me up in my little doll dress and took me out about town.

The man who used to call me , "Layla baba..." because he was kind of a father to me...

I miss that man. Not this one...never. I have nothing to say anymore to a horrible person that says my mother has become sick because she inherited all the money from grandpa, and that she deserves to be sick because he didn't get any.

Who is this man? Why has life done this to him?

My heart is very saddened by the thought of knowing this new man. I don't know him, he is not my uncle.