Sunday, July 26, 2009

Father's Day

Soundtrack: Moonlight Sonata, Beethoven

There is a reoccuring dream.
A little girl cries.
Her big, brown, six year old eyes trace every line she makes with her hand. By now, she's gotten paint and crayon all over her skin. She hears footsteps down the hall, but swallows the lump in her throat and continues. She smiles when she's done, opens the door, and heads for the master bedroom. He's in there, in the dark, late afternoon splendor. She walks warily towards him, paper trembling in her hands. But with a pocketful of courage, she hands it to him.
"For you Daddy," she tells him. He looks at it for a long moment, then after an eternity, smiles. She returns the gesture and quickly leaves the room.
The next morning, as she walks outside in the cold, sweater sleeves well over her fingertips and the last bit of glitter fading from her shoes, she spots the drawing from the trash bin. She is not surprised, but the smile fades as painfully as it usually does. Silence can truly be deafening. In the spirit of a young girl, an 'I love you' not returned is as earth shattering as the beat of a butterfly's wings.

A few years have passed now, but not many. She packs her bags in silence despite the yells. She doesn't realize she is crying until the tears stain the pages of her sketchbook.
Doors slam. Furniture rattles.
In the dark of the night, a glimmer of hope remains as silence enters the house.
But this is not a home.
She goes for the front door, but stops dead when she meets his presence in the living room. She is frozen in place, but he doesn't seem to acknowledge her. But then his head slowly turns, and even in the moonshine and the eyes of the young girl, seh can see his eyes are bloodshot, poisoned with alcohol and hate.
"You are not mine. You never will be."
The butterfly flaps its wings for those nine syllables. All she can do is retreat back to her room.

A grown up girl cries.
But this is too real to be a dream.

No comments:

Post a Comment