Is This A Rescue

* Samuel Johnston *

A few minutes later, Dennis and I started looking at old photos of Dad on his phone.

"He looked so young then," I smiled at the picture of Dad holding baby me in his arms.

"This was sixteen years ago, Little Miss. You looked a lot younger then too," he jested.

"I'll be seventeen next month but these years have been so hard on my skin," I pulled the skin under my eyes.

Then, we heard a knock on the door immediately followed by another and another. I was frozen in place, unable to take my eyes off the door, not knowing what would happen next. Dennis and I exchanged looks, both knowing that it was our mother who was at the door.

Denny rolled his eyes, got out of bed, and walked over to the door before saying, "Mom, leave us alone, we won't talk to you unless it's answers about Dad."

He encountered the door and opened it expecting to see our mom and whatever plea for forgiveness she had, but got a different miracle entirely.

I stared at the man in the doorway with astonishment as I was paralyzed by shock. Every emotion I felt was staring back at me and I was unable to move in a sudden jolt of panic.

"Dad," I heard Dennis say in the softest tone I have heard with his voice cracking as his emotions took him over. I watched as our dad took his son in his arms and squeezed him with every ounce of love he had in his body before whispering to him, "Yes, I missed you, son."

My dad looked up from Dennis and made an association with my eyes. His gaze focused on me with tears rolling down his face. I felt as though he had my heart in his hands, to crush or to spark life into. I felt a tingling sensation overtake my body that forced me out of the state of mind, dragging me over to him.

I walked cautiously, not believing that who I was looking at was, in fact, my father. Wondering if I just missed him so much that I conjured up an image in my head - a mirage if you will. I stood in front of them as Denny loosened his hold on our dad, standing beside him waiting for me to move. I stared into our dad's eyes not certain of what to do next.

My father reached his arms out to me, ready to take me in his arms and transport me back into a better time, but we couldn't go back there. Gently, I touched his hand to see if this was real and it was. I felt his warm hands and stared deeply into his soft green eyes that resembled mine.

Without knowing or thinking about my actions I felt my hand erupt across his face, leaving a stunning display of emotion surrounding the both of us. With my mouth agape, I shoved past everyone and ran, trying to escape from my decision and the repercussions of my reaction.

All I could think was, "Wow, I just slapped my dad!"

It felt like it wasn't even me. My body had all the control and I didn't have time to react emotionally. As if an unknown entity took over me and suppressed who I was and what I wanted to do. This entity also forced me to run away. Or perhaps it's an inherited family trait.

I dashed down the stairs. I saw my mother sitting in the living room and she tried to catch my attention while I scurried out the door.

Dispossessed of clear thoughts, I ran out the front door, and continued on my path. Occasionally, I looked behind me and I saw my dad following suit not far behind. I knew I would fail in trying to outrun him, being that he was on the track team in high school and went on morning runs every day while he lived with us, but I had to try.

There was a park coming up in a few seconds where I hoped I could evade him. With breath running out of my body, I reached the park and ran to my favorite oak tree.

Behind me, I heard my father scream out, "Daya," which scared me up the tree. Breathless and afraid I sat on the strongest branch in the tree hoping that my father hadn't seen me, but he had.

In a sincere tone, he looked up at me and begged, "Sunshine, please come down and talk to me."

Silently, I looked at the tree and foliage around me: the squirrels eating acorns, the leaves rustling around in the breeze. I was trying my hardest to avoid my dad's eyes; knowing I would cry at the sight of his sorrow.

With my focus adverted, I heard my father say, "Well if you aren't coming down, I'm coming up."

Still, I focused on the whistle of the wind as my dad climbed up the tree and sat only six feet away from me. He was observing me; waiting for our eyes to make contact, for my vulnerability to shine through.

A few minutes went by, we sat circled by an uncomfortable silence, and then I heard him say, "No wonder you and Jay prowl up here all the time. Nice tree." He spoke in an attempt to pry laughter out of me.

In reply, I sighed not knowing what else to do in the ordeal I got myself in.

"Day, talk to me," are the words I heard my dad say as his eyes never left me.

A few more minutes went by and his words rammed into the side of my brain; giving me a headache.

"What were you expecting?" I spoke with a wave of unshakable and very noticeable anger. "For me to be happy that the guy who disappeared from my life showed back up to rescue me."

I turned my head so that he could see my eyes and all the hurt that had accumulated over the past few months. Our gazes focused on each other as he revealed in almost a whisper, "Yeah, I guess I deserved that."

My mind was boggling and the fury I was camouflaging came out into the light and was not to be trifled with. Was that all he had to say? He had no apologies, no declarations of love, just an, "I guess I deserved that."

Without hesitation, I mumbled under my breath annoyed, "Wow." I couldn't believe he was serious. "Dad, you had months to plan out this conversation with me and that's the best you got."

He retorted with a chuckle as if it was something funny.

"Dad, I'm being serious. This isn't a game, it's my heart, my life," I sobbed as I responded to his mocking laughter in alarm, fighting back the tears I knew wanted to fall out.

He opened his mouth to reply but instantaneously I made my thoughts oral, "I don't want the unnecessary small talk. You abandoned us, your family. You didn't come home for Thanksgiving, my heart was broken, and you did that to me. I don't want your comfort. I'm angry, and you're evading the truth. That's all I need to know. I don't know why you and Mom are fighting but I know it doesn't merit ditching your family. You didn't even give us a formal goodbye. I woke, and you were just gone in a puff of smoke. Why?" I combated with the tears in my eyes as I waited for his remarks.

To my surprise, I was greeted with a prolific muteness. Hearing no words from my father, I concentrated on the sound of cars as they passed by and the beautiful soft blanket of snow that covered the land.

"What I have to say won't satisfy you," my dad articulated to me looking down at the snow surrounding the tree, to which I replied, "Try me," as tears slowly crept out of my eyes. Thirty minutes to an hour went by as he tried to pacify my worried mind.

"One night, your mother and I were alone in the house. I think you were at Jay's house and Dennis was at a friends. I had things that I wanted to happen that night, being that it was a rare night that we were alone. Your mother was still working at the time and while I was waiting for her, I started drinking. Bottles upon bottles filled my hands and by the time she arrived home, I was completely wasted." It was painful to hear.

"Still, I tried to romance your mother, but she was tired and complained about me being drunk. We started arguing and shared bitter words, that I knew I didn't mean. But I questioned if she meant them. She said the only reason we were together was because of the kids and she wanted to experience a life that wasn't connected to me. I didn't take the information well, and we became physical. I know it wasn't right, and she was just trying to protect herself," he spoke like it hurt to admit the truth.

"But the alcohol and the circumstances completely clouded my vision. I regret that night, the times that happened before, and the times that happened afterward. Daya, I truly do," he covered his face with his hands, and I heard soft sobs over the rustle of the tree limbs around us.

After he composed himself, he shared more stories of his troubled relationship with my mother, including the one that drew them closer to the pen when they signed their separation papers. The story of another drunken night that ended with drunken violence.

How does one express sympathy towards the man who hit my mom? He left a bruise on her side that she told me was from bumping into our countertop.

At that exact moment, no words could describe the loathing I felt for him. Ire was forming in my heart and frozen tears stained my face like that of cigarette tar as it coats your lungs.

"I've regretted it since it happened, and I was too ashamed to be around all of you. The worry that my family would abandon me overcame my rational decision-making process. I know that you miss me but -," before he could finish, I abridged him by breathlessly saying, "Missed."