Passing strangers (weekend freewrite)

Dad gave me a wink, like we were pals or something. I looked at him as if he was out of his mind, like you normally do when this happens.
He kept staring at me, undeterred, and I felt an increasing need to move away. In fact, I did take a few steps back and tried to look the other way. I didn't want to encourage this sort of behavior.
I waited in line for my coffee, like a good little girl, and kept my eye on the chalkboard that had all the recipes written on it.

I didn't look back to see if he was still staring at me, but I could feel his eyes burying into the nape of my neck and the only thing I wanted was to shake his unpleasant stare off of me.
I got my coffee and rushed out of the coffee shop. I wasn't sure if that was the best move, because the coffee shop was quite crowded and it's always safe when there's people around. But I felt I couldn't take him looking at me anymore.
About a block away, I began feeling a bit bad. Shit, I'm always like this. I'm never too tough, I can never be mean to strangers. Maybe he was just trying to be nice. I mean, I've had older guys wink at me from time to time. Heck, I'm a pretty girl.
But this guy...he just gave me the creeps, like a bolt of lead crashing into my stomach.
Of course, I didn't know he was my dad. Not then.

She was standing behind the counter, giving him this root beer-float kind of smile. That was usually a good thing. He looked her up and down, while she turned around to pour him another shot and he smiled his big wide lips at her. She was really pretty, and that was saying a lot.
Donald didn't believe in beautiful, he thought all them models on the magazine pages were supposed to be beautiful, and he didn't get a god damn thing from them. Not even a funny vibe. Nothing happened to his...down there, either. So he figured, if that's beautiful, then he don't need it.
Much rather like something like this little slip of a girl, behind the counter. She seemed too young ot be serving in a bar, but heck, who was he to judge. He was, to be frank, too young to be in a bar himself, so he kept his lip.
And then he didn't. Thing was, he got talking to the girl and he figured he liked talking to her. She was fun, she was smart. And he didn't know many smart people, back where he was from. So, he sat talking with her and that was his great adventure at the bar. It turned out he been right. The girl, whole of only sixteen, so not old enough to be doin' what she was doin' either.
But she figured she needed the money and the old woman working the register wouldn't ask too many question.
After all, they were all the same, them young people.
And Donald wasn't supposed to be there and Lola, 'cause her name was Lola, well, she wasn't supposed to be there either.

The time Leslie called me a leech, that was probably when it happened. Something in my head must've clicked then and there, after almost twenty years. You know, the shitty thing was that's how I felt, although I didn't try to tell my sister that.
Leslie never understood, she never could've understood. She wasn't like...well, actually she was, and I think that was the problem. She ain't...clever.
And when she said I was a leech, that I was some stalker and that they'd put me away, man, I felt like the earth would swallow me whole. That's just how I felt. Like the shittiest man alive.
I tried to tell her, you know? Prove to her that she wasn't right, that I was only trying to see my kid.
You know, when i found out, I couldn't believe it. It felt like...a story, you know, like something that happens to someone else. I didn't feel nothing. At first.
But then I did.
I felt rage. I wanted to kill that silly girl, although I know now it wouldn't have been fair, 'cause she was just a kid. We were both kids, I suppose.
So, I figured, I wouldn't try to contact Lola. But I wanted to see the kid. I didn't even know her name then. Can you imagine, not knowing your own baby's name?
Sixteen years – he shakes his head – I had a lot of catching up to do. So, I'd follow her and I'd take pictures of her and I'd collect stuff about her. She seemed like a very bright little girl. Maybe I should've been more careful.
Leslie found the stuff once, when she slept over on my couch. Called me a leech. I figured I wasn't a leech, I just wanted to see my baby girl.
But I suppose I was. In a way. So I figured I'd stop, you know. That I'd be the adult I'm supposed to be. I figured we're both reasonable people. That we could talk about it, like reasonable people.
I didn't mean to creep you out or anything. 'S just...I got scared.
So, anyway, hi. I'm Don. Well, Dad, I suppose.