英语六级范文:I am Doing Nothing Wrong

   

My father hands me a beer before the show, and turns his attention to the plethora of young women around him. Doesn he know this makes me uncomfortable? Of course all the hetero boys are doing the same, and the girls go by with grim faces and stiff necks. Not seeing but seeing. The youngest ones laugh too loudly, and sprint down the aisles. The boys fall for this act, willing to see mystery where there is none.

"Dale, what yours?" my dad shouts over the opening act, a punk band from Kansas City. The woman is about my age, with low breasts and tattoos up and down her arms. She shakes my father hand. "Laura," I hear her scream.

"This is my daughter, Penelope." He puts his arm around me, and squeezes. I can be a prop.

"Nice to meet you." Her hand is sticky and cool.

"That is so sweet," she says and gives me a smile a five year old would find condescending. I offer to go to the bar. Laura orders a Jack and coke, my father another beer. He makes a big deal of handing me a twenty. When I get back, Dale gives me a half-smile that＇s really a question. I pat his arm. Yes, I answer. I＇ll get lost.

P.J. Harvey comes out in a white pants suit. She＇s tiny, but has a voice that defies her size. I＇m several rows behind Dale and Laura, and watch them head bang to the music. I want to move as well, but am surrounded by a passive bunch. They feign thoughtful attentiveness through cocked heads and closed eyes. During a ballad I can barely discern, my father lifts his left arm high and sways, a lighter poised in his hand. The singular flame hovers over his companion＇s head, threatening to catch it on fire.

Looking at him, unabashed as the sole lighter possessor in the entire place, I realize he＇s happy. When we first moved to Fort Collins, we were sick from the altitude. With the mountains so far west, we didn＇t think we were up so high. Each day presented a new symptom. Bloody nose, earache, vertigo. My ears felt full and hollow, and I couldn＇t tell what was close or far away. My dad had dreamed of living out west all his life, but began to think he had made a mistake. The west my father sought didn＇t have suburban sprawl. Nevertheless, he has thrived beneath its sunny disposition, where afternoons are warm, even in winter.

After the show, I wait for my dad in front of the theatre. The smell of smoke is everywhere. Dale and Laura wander toward me, new-fangled and affectionate. They begin to walk ahead, in the opposite direction of where we parked.

"The van is this way, Dad." Laura laughs, a little uneasily. She grabs my father shoulder. The veins in her hands are prominent. She＇s older than I thought. On her arm is a tattoo of the Virgin Mary, done up like a cowgirl and surrounded by stars, with a lasso in her right hand.

"You go on without me," my dad says. I hear one word of this. It is "oust."

"We鈥檙e going the wrong way." I say. My father stops. Under the streetlight, they both look soft, with pink skin and translucent hair.

"You be fine, Lope. I see you tomorrow." We an hour away from home, and have a seven a.m. appointment in the morning. He must be thinking the same thing, because he says, "I catch the bus."

If I had known earlier, I wouldn have had so much to drink. "OK," I say. My father hums P.J. Harvey. I recognize the song, "You Said Something," which always makes me miss New York. I go into a 7-Eleven for a coffee and bottle of water, to sober up. I think of Larry waiting at home, eyeing the clock while listening to Kris Kristofferson. At this late hour, it＇s most likely Who＇s to Bless and Who＇s to Blame.

Outside, I drink my coffee in the cold air. I see my father and Laura cross the street. Their hands are stuffed into their jean pockets, and their pace is brisk, purposeful. Even though he＇s blocks away and my ears are ringing, I can hear him sing:

And I＇m doing nothing wrong
Riding in your car
The radio playing
We sing up to the eighth floor

Driving home with the windows down to keep me awake, the shape of the mountains glow above the city lights. In the four years we＇ve been here, we have yet to visit them. They＇re as foreign to us as a picture postcard. Beautiful, but not to be trusted.