You stand at the bank like strangers. The physical distance, 14.4 inches, just enough to be informal, to acknowledge that infact, you are blood. Big tree, little tree. Intertwined by last name and DNA and you suddenly realize that it is just a man standing next to you. You realize that you know nothing of your own father. Crooked slightly, grey shining through the brown, a sweater vest that you're sure your mother picked out for him. And god you realize, he is pathetic. And you hate yourself for thinking that, as if some invisible line has been crossed in your relationship, as if you should never think that out of pure respect for the man who made you. He pulls his glasses out and squints at the black line before signing.
"You know I'm trusting you with this, right?"
"I'll pay you back, I swear."
And he straightens and you think of Paris. You think of her neck and whispering into it, you think of how you'll build her a house with your father's branches. The knotted wood, 14.4 inches away and you think of what a man should be.
"You gonna go get her?"
And you stare at him and you realize that 14.4 inches to your right stands the greatest man you'll ever know.