When antagonized, Alastair often could not find the right words to say. In his mind, he always felt like the coolest, toughtest, hardest guy that ever lived. And frequently, he rehearsed all the right things to say in order to strive towards that goal. But when the moment came to put it all on the line, Alastair oftentimes would crumple up like a well-engineered Volvo -- he would give just enough so that his inner psyche could remain intact and be found salvageable. That illusion of hardness could vanish in a puff, to be filled in an instant with the feelings of helplessness.
Nevertheless, in Alastair's mind there existed a distinct and distinguisable, well-cultivated sense of self. He worried over it endlessly and, at best, was only moderately satisfied.
For all these reasons, Amelia's long, drawn out, and complicated admission seemingly stung at his very soul. In place of words came out a disfigured and pained facial expression -- a beautiful visage now distorted and warped by outside blows and inner inablities.
A day earlier, Alastair caught himself walking down the streets of the city, feeling overwhelming pleased with himself. He considered his blessings and daydreamed of a life without misgivings. The kids, the wife, the beautiful home -- all these wonderfully placed and timed advantages stood well-ordered in a foundation built with care and patience. Truly, the scariest thing he or anyone could ever know is consistently, perpetually looming just over the horizon. But at long last, he felt that he was closer than ever to understanding his often wary and misunderstood father.
...Some More
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