Hope

A text from her father. 

I hadn’t heard from him in 13 years. Not since he called me, screaming, his rage seering me through the phone. He told me twisted ways he’d have his revenge. I cowered on the other side of the phone. 

I stared at the message, mulling over what my plan of action would be. 

She wants to see you.

Just five simple words to most people. 

I still remember that night, a memory more prominent than any other. I remember the wine glass I threw against the wall and the millions of pieces it shattered into. Her face a mix of horror, fear, and heartbreak. 

We have been so young and so in love, a blissful couple rushing into the world with joyful hearts. Joyful hearts that would crumble as we realized how mistaken we were. A few months into marriage, and I knew our covenant was slipping away. I whispered to her in our past oblivion, saying that would never happen to us. We were soulmates. 

How wrong could this poor man be? 

We rode a downward spiral, never looking back. Small disagreements turned into arguments turned into shouting turned into separate beds turned into silence. 

It was 13 years ago when I broke our silent trace, threw the glass, and drove away. 

I haven’t heard from her since. 

Don’t pity her though. Don’t think of her as a victim of my crimes. I vividly remember the crazed look in her eye one night as she picked up my favorite jacket and threw it into the roaring fireplace, giving me a satisfied smile as it turned to ashes. We were fire fighting fire, and there was nothing that extinguished our anger. 

It seems astonishing that we ever came to fall in love in the first place. Maybe we saw ourselves in each other. Maybe the passion I admired in her became a sharp knife in my side, and the fierce spirit she loved about me became her worst nightmare. 

Don’t misinterpret me. I am racked with guilt about the way I left her. I wish deep within my soul that that wasn’t how we’d said goodbye. It was inevitable that there was a goodbye, but it could’ve been peaceful. We could have made promises to stay friends, promises we’d never keep, but the guilt wouldn’t be a deep hole, chipping away at me. But no, I was fire and so was she, so we were going down in flames. 

That’s why the message gave me hope. Hope that I could make things right. Hope that I could pretend to be a better man than I was. 

I had called her the day after I drove away. On that phone call she said the very words on the tip of my tongue. The ones I knew needed to be said but dreaded saying. 

We shouldn’t see each other again. We just aren’t meant to be together. 

At the time I still held onto summer picnics and chicken salad sandwiches underneath the towering oak tree. I held onto late nights, her crystal blue eyes that held onto my every word, making me feel like I was special. I held onto holding her hand, dancing at her cousin's wedding, and the sacred vow we made at our own. Maybe I still hold onto those things now. 

That phone call was the last I heard from her, the final blow to a marriage broken from the start. 

I never thought we’d see each other again. There was something about that phone call, the finality of it. It was done. It was over. 

Now there was a message from her father. She wanted to see me again. Talk to me again. Multiple emotions cascaded over me. I chose to take hold of hope.

Not hope that we’d suddenly remember our love for each other, and she’d fall into my arms, like some unrealistic movie. Only hope that we would be alright. 

My phone beeped. Another message from her father. 

Today @ Redwin Park 2pm.

So this was happening. 

I will be there.

That’s all I said. The clock just turned 12. 

Deep breaths, deep breaths I whispered to myself. It’s funny how worried I was to see someone I used to call my wife, my love, my one and only. Deep breaths and prayers as time ticked by. 

I changed my shirt twice and checked my watch more. The inside of my mouth began to bleed as I chewed. I plucked another feeling from my mixed emotions. Wow, was I nervous.

I hopped in my old Ford truck and drove to the park. It was a sunny day, serene, a cool breeze touching my skin through the window. I turned into the parking lot.

30 minutes early. 

I sat there, my fingers drumming the wheel. Unable to sit any longer, I turned off the car and hopped out. Taking a shaky breath, I began to walk around, looking for those crystal blue eyes. 

As I walked down the twisting sidewalk of the park, I thought of what I would say when I saw her face to face. Scenario after scenario formed in my head and the words I spoke never seemed to be the right ones. Lost in thought, a park bench appeared in the corner of my eye. 

And on that park bench was a woman, her back turned away from me. 

I’d recognize her anywhere. Her wavy amber hair, small feet, long arms. I stared for a moment, unsure of what to do. 

She turned towards me. Her soft brown eyes meet mine.

Soft brown eyes exactly like mine. 

Realization hit me like a freight train, shock spreading through my body. I wanted to scream, fall to the ground, run away. 

She never told me about her. She never ever told me. Disbelief filled my face. 

I have a daughter.

She wants to see you. I don’t even know who she is. She never told me my daughter’s name. 

I looked at my daughter, and she looked back, earnestly searching my face. Then, she smiled. My daughter smiled at me, a broken man. 

A small smile so gentle, like an ocean tide over my feet. Like a butterfly floating on the wind. A peace settled in me, and I wondered how could two fires, strong enough to burn every bridge, make something so lovely, something so full of hope.