“Where the hell are my keys?”
I hear my dad say loudly in frustration. I am just putting on my coat for him to take me to school on his way to work.
“I can’t find them anywhere!”
I hear him moving things around in his room. A moment later he rounds the corner and sees me.
“Do you know where they are? Did you take them when you went out last?”
“No,” I respond. “Did you check your pockets?”
His eyes get big. I know he isn’t really mad at me, but he’s gone past the red line of his frustration.
“Of course, I checked them!”
He’s nearly yelling now. He throws his hands up and storms away from me. I hate when he gets this aggravated. There’s no reason in him at this point. I watch him storm around a moment longer before he decides to go look through the window of the car to see if they are locked inside.
I’m hefting my backpack onto my shoulder and watching him walk down the sidewalk. It’s cold out and I see him shove his hands angrily into his pockets. He stops walking and his head drops to his chest. I can see his breath as it blows out in a huff. He turns and looks at me. The fire in his eyes is gone.
“I found them. Let’s go,” he says with defeat in his voice.
I chuckle as I follow him to the car and try not to tease him too much before he drops me off at school.