Highway to Hell
Ishootan email off to the client for my latest freelance project and push my chair back from my desk, rubbing at my eyes. It’s only half past seven, and I’ve already spent an hour trying to come up with a unique Etsy marketing campaign for handmadesoap.
Handmade soap. OnEtsy.
It’s probably one of the most oversaturated markets in the world; unique angles are few and farbetween.
I close down the half dozen tabs I have open on my laptop and head to the kitchen, pouring myself a coffee and trying to ignore the sounds of my roommate, Sofia, and her boyfriend getting their morning gloryon.
My phone buzzes just as I’m about to pop some bread in the toaster and I look down to see a reminder about the video call I have scheduled with my dad in a minute. My parents retired once I finished my undergrad and now spend half the year in Portugal. My dad insists on calling me at least once a week and gets up at all hours to accommodate myschedule.
I head into our tiny living room and take a seat on the futon as a cry of “Tão bom!” accompanies an apartment-shaking slam against Sofia’s bedroom wall. She’s Portuguese as well, and keeps up the ‘passionate lover’ stereotype enough for the both ofus.
Idecideto move back into the kitchen before pressing the call button and wait for my dad to pickup.
“Olá,amorzinho!”
An image of Dad’s ear appears on the screen of my phone, and I shake my head whilelaughing.
“Papai,” I tell him, “we’re doing a video call. Put the camera in front of yourface.”
Some shuffling occurs, and then a close up of two warm brown eyes and some greying eyebrows replaces the picture of theear.
“A little father back,Papai.”
The camera zooms out and there’s my dad, the tanned lines of his face twisting up into a smile that beams like a spotlight. He’s wearing one of his ever-present AC/DCshirts.
“Desculpe, minha filha. I forget these things.” He keeps smiling at me like I’m the sun breaking through the clouds on a rainy day. “So, my love,tudobem?”
“Yes, everything’s good. I’m tired, but that’s nothingnew.”
His face falls slightly. “You work so hard, my rock star. You must have some fun while you are stillyoung.”
“I do have fun,Papai. I told you about mykickboxing.”
“Ah, yes!” He makes a fist with the hand that isn’t holding his phone and jabs it towards the camera. “My strong fighter girl!I’m TNT! I’m dynamite! I’m TNT! I’ll win thefight!”
I grew up listening to my dad sing AC/DC at the top of his lungs, but even after twenty-five years, hearing the words of Angus Young belted out in a heavy Portuguese accent always makes melaugh.
“Mostly I just hit punching bags,” I tellhim.
“Still, you are my rock star,” he insists. “And how is your school,minhafilha?”
“School is alright. We got our partners assigned for that big project I told you about, the one for the advertising fair. My partner is...Well, I don’t know how well working with him is going to go, to be honest. He ismuito irritanteand this project is just so important tome.”
“But this is why you know kickboxing: so you can take thatidiotaon the highway tohell!”
He starts jabbing his fist at the camera again, belting out the chorus of ‘Highway to Hell,’ and it doesn’t surprise me that we’re not even five minutes into our conversation and he’s already on his second reference to theband.
“It might come to that,Papai. It justmight.”
I look up at the sound of a door opening and see Sofia emerge from her room, wearing only a men’s t-shirt and sporting some of the craziest sex hair I’ve everseen.
“I should go now,” I tell my dad. “I have to head into school soon and I haven’t eaten breakfastyet.”
“Okay,” he replies. “Tchau, meu amorzinho, and don’tforget!”
I watch as he throws a few more punches towards thecamera.
