When we met again

When I imagined reconnecting with my father, I had different scenarios each time. In some, I'd run up to him and squeeze him with a giant hug, ignoring the large gap of time between us. In others, I'd hold myself at a polite distance, briefly nodding a hello before walking away, carrying on with my life. 

All these years, I imagined how it would be, and the kinds of things we would talk about. If we'd laugh together and be happy again. Would he regret what he's done? Would I find the courage to forgive him? 

And finally, would I be strong enough to let go of the past clinging on to me, following me like a shadow—would I be able to move on?

I wondered, all these years. Questions taunted me, stealing my sleep, my peace. My mind held whispered words, blurred memories, forgotten stories, and like sharp edges of glass—cut me, drawing my blood. My heart had no answers. 

And then it happened. 

He was sitting on a bench, staring into nothing, deep in thought. I didn't feel anything more than a gasp inside. Not at first. 

It was like seeing someone familiar in a crowd, someone you knew from your childhood, or old town, someone you completely forgot about, until you saw them again. 

I was coming home from work, deciding to walk through the park instead of the city. Something in me wanted to break away from the busy life, loud noise, cars, people, and for a split moment—feel comforted by the peace nature generously brought. 

He didn't see me, not yet, and for a second my heart tugged into two directions. Do I come up and say something? Do I come up and hug him? Do I walk away and pretend I didn't see him? But how can I walk away from someone who was once so close to me? A thought whispered, but he did. . . 

He did, but I wasn't him. And I had a choice to be different, to be better. But what can I say? Hi dad, felt foreign and strange, and too bare to make up for all the missed words of our lifetime. 

I would keep standing there until he stood up. I would watch him, maybe then I'd think of something to say. My thoughts mixed and swirled. I didn't blink. A dog barked, then barked again. 

And suddenly he looked up, and my world flipped. . . My vision blurred, my view darkened. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe. In all of the air in the park, there wasn't enough of it to fill my lungs. Thump. Thump. Thump. I was afraid my heart would leap out. 

"Lilly?"

I swallowed a lump. 

"Lilly it's me, Pops."

Pops. 

"Hello?"

"Lilly it's me, Pops." 

"Pops?"

"Yeah sweetie, it's me. How are you sweet girl?"

"Mama said I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"I know Lills, I left you something at the front door."

"What is it?" 

"Someone I thought you'd like."

"Are you there?"

"No I'm in a different place right now, I'm sorry I'm missing your birthday."

I gasped. 

"What is it? Did you see your surprise?"

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. On the porch, a tiny grey kitten stared back at me, it's paws leaning against a woven basket with a bow. A label read, 

Happy Birthday Lills.

Her name is Sunshine, take good care of her. 

I love you. 

-Pops 

"She's beautiful." I whispered, "And so tiny!" 

"She's all yours, Lills. Can you take good care of her for me?" 

"Yes, yes, yes!" 

"Alright, I love you my little plum. I'll try to call you soon."

"Lills, you don't recognize me? It's me pops." 

My mouth opened, and closed again, making no noise. I sat down next to him. He broke the silence,

"You're all grown up now, look at you."

"Dad. . ."

Pops. I wanted to say. 

"What are you. . .what are you doing here?" I squeezed out. I didn't recognize my choked voice. Every word was hitting me like a dagger. 

"Well I uh, I live around here now. Used to live under the bridge over by the market, but they forced us out of there."

"You're still. . ." I looked away. 

"Homeless?" He nodded, a sad smile ran through his eyes. 

His eyes. . . he looked different now, much older, grey hues mixing in with his brown strands of hair, crumpled clothes, dirty shoes, but his eyes. . .they were the same, as if absolutely nothing changed. 

And suddenly—everything came back to me, every single little thing, every memory, vivid, and forgotten, every night that my pillow was damp from tears, and every day I wanted to wake up to a different life. My tired mama, her shoulders heaving up and down from sobs, I'm trying to comfort her, I'm trying to make her stop crying, but I'm crying too. It's dark in the house, we have no electricity, he took the money again, we have nothing to pay the bill with, we find crackers but neither of us are eating. There's fighting, arguing, yelling. There's crying. Our empty living room, with no furniture, our black mazda being used by someone else now, everything is gone. We move into an apartment, live off the floor for a few weeks, he comes back and promises to get a job. He says he'll quit drugs and go to rehab, he says he'll change. . .

I'm crying and crying and crying and I'm eight years old again—the weight of the world on my shoulders. I want it to stop. I want it stop. 

I'm sitting still, staring into the distance in silence.

"Lills."

His hand touches my shoulder gently. 

"I'm so sorry. For everything. I know I can't change anything. I gave you and mama such a hard time. And you have a right not to forgive me, but if I could change something, I would. Let's be a family again."

I want to hear those words. 

"Do you have ten dollars? I'll bring it back, I just need to catch old Jo before he leaves." 

I look at him. He's looking at me, but isn't seeing me. He's looking through me. Like he always did. His mind was far away from me, from this park, from our past. 

I dig in my purse, and hand him a ten dollar bill. His eyes gleam with happiness. But that spark isn't from seeing me, it never was. 

He jumps to his feet, "I'll be back Lills! Don't leave! I just need to catch Jo, but I'll be back!" His excited voice echoes through the emptiness of the park.

I stand up and grab my purse, staring at his back, growing smaller in the distance. The air is crisp. A crow makes itself known in the hidden branches. It's quiet.

I turn around and start walking home.