The house where I grew up was almost empty now, and I was feeling my father’s presence less. In the basement, all that was left was the old fridge with rounded edges like a 1950’s auto. I’d lived down there for a bit after college, and one weekend in a fit of post-breakup mania , I’d painted the thing yellow with bands of black and white checks like an old cab. Some frat kids who’d seen the picture on craigslist thought it would make the perfect beer receptacle and were coming to pick it up. I walked down the creaky steps almost catching my foot on the worn out carpet, and then as I switched on the light, I saw something out of the corner of my eye and felt a touch on my shoulder. Daddy?

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