Too Far So Close

The small boy sat on the front step that August summer night in 1969. The air was heavy, and only a slight breeze breathed across his face as he gazed up at the dark sky, searching for Deneb, his favorite star. Vega and Altair were just as beautiful, and they fought for the same attention. They were bright, and only because they were closer to the eye. Deneb never sought the attention, she was present, but so far away and yet the most luminous of her sisters.

Deneb caught his eye, blue and white she was. 'I'm here,' she seemed to say. 'So close but so far away.'

His cheek felt wet, and he brushed it away. Sweat or tears, or both. His father died last night. He was sad. Sad, not for what would never be again, but what never was.

"He will always be close to your heart," his mother said, as she cupped her hands in his, earlier that day. The flowers well wishers sent, permeated the hot room, and dust floated from the sunny window.

The photo on the striped wall papered room smirked at him. His father dressed in his suit, his hair combed back with the brill cream he used.

He thrust his hands from his mother's grip, and rushed out of the room, the sun never followed him. Tonight, the stars would.

Frank held that little boy that he was 50 years ago. Held him in the constellation, as his now older eyes beset on that same sky, as he sat on his own porch now.

Deneb held him too. Held his face in her presence in that dark forlorn sky.

"These numbers don't jive, Frank! Revenue gone down from twenty three thousand since June?".

The lost strand of hair that fell over Frank's forehead whisked from the overflowing folder that slammed on his paper laden desk.

Frank's boss ran his scurried hand through his graying hair, then let out a huff with nostrils widening like a bull ready to charge.

Just like his father used to do.

"I will figure it out, Bill, must be an input error. I will figure it out,"

Frank assured him, mirroring Bill by shuffling his hand through his own thick dark hair.

"Get on it, " Bill grumbled as he trod out of the office, his keys jiggling in his pocket as if to merrily delight in the tirade.

Frank leaned back in the full leather chair, defeated. The folder lay there as if waiting for his attention. He didn't care. Not anymore.

His eyes scanned his desk. Mountains of paper, the computer monitor idling with the screen saver of whizzing photos of green golf courses, winding country roads of someplace not known, and then one of stars in a dark sky. This one he took himself last August. He eyed Deneb, the one bright blue and white star in that photo. His girl, he thought, and half smiled.

He motioned for his Starbucks coffee mug that Swanlea, his daughter gave him one Christmas. Oddly, it had white stars on it..or maybe it was just a splash of what seemed like a star, and drew it to his wet lips. The rum kissed his tongue.

He knocked back his chair as he rose to his feet, and it rolled back in retort. With an indignant swipe of his hand, he pushed Bill's folder like a deck of cards across the desk.

The standing silver photo frame toppled over at the demise.

A group of four smiled in the picture still. Swanlea, his eldest daughter sat perched beside him, proudly assuming a missing tooth at the bottom. Grey, his baby son, coddled in his mother's arms, with the confused expression any eighth month old would attire.

He loved August. His favorite month of the year.

'Yeah, because I died then,' his father's voice. That same sarcastic tone, Frank thought.

'Yeah, because you didn't give a crap,' Frank responded to him in their usual mind talks . 'All I wanted was to be an astronomer, but no...I had to be working with numbers, money. Be professional...ha!"

'You are a loser', his father's ghost said, in a matter-of-fact way.

This blow didn't hit him. He was used to it as if eating molasses. As a small boy, it did though. Even worse than the blows to the shoulder and the one that sent him writhing in agony on the kitchen floor, his small nine year old skeletal shoulder. 'Never did heal, by the way,' Frank said now to his ghost father. Trying to teach him to be a man. Fight. Come on, be a big man. That arm gotta be far, but the blow needs to be close. Strong and brighter than any fighter.

The sun bathed his back as he shrugged off his white shirt, careful to be easy on that left shoulder. Clawed off the noose of the black tie. That is why God gave us two hands, he awkwardly thought.

He stomped up the steps to the modest grey house and swung open the screen door. He bought this house. Fixed that screen door.

The smell of fried steak and onions tempted his nose, as he released his feet from the shiny black shoes.

"You are home early," Rhonda peeked her head around the corner of the kitchen wall like a curious bird.

A wave of black hair danced across her blushed cheeks.

She was beautiful, he thought.

"Nice," he uttered. "Let's have a drink first."

The steak was left uneaten. At least his portion was. The sound of the portable television muttered in their bedroom from the closed door.

He could not understand why she would be so unhappy. He just wanted to unwind, have a drink. He was not hungry. Damn, woman, I work all day, he had said to her, after his third glass of rum and cola.

He did play with Grey. The baby laughed that belly laugh as he made those oink-oink sounds and nuzzled his head into his son's tummy. Until the baby got fussy, and Rhonda gathered him in her arms and settled him down in his crib.

That was enough, wasn't it?

He slid open the patio door as the night sky welcomed him. A fresh rum and coke in a cold glass nestled in his hand, he settled on to the wooden chair.

He was waiting to see her. Deneb. This season of the year she was bright as ever.

"Do you like my dress," a small voice tickled his ear.

Swanlea swirled her nine year old body, the blue and white satin dress billowed around her.

She thirsted for his attention.

Frank captured her in his eyes. His hand secured the glass in his hand.

"Nice," he smiled and made a clicking sound with his cheek and tongue. That was his way of showing approval.

A big smile rounded her face. She bowed with her knee in reply to his naked applaud.

His eyes swapped from his daughter to the skies. One bright star illuminated like a small dancer on a blackened stage.

"See...see that one?" Frank raised his arm and his finger directed her to the black mass of sky with now one bright blue and white star. "There is Deneb! Look at her, Swanlea. Vega and Sirius shine ever bright. They get the attention, because they are so close. But she...she...is so far away...so far away, but so close."

Swanlea gazed up at the sky, as Deneb posed in her eyes.

She cocooned herself with folded arms.

The crickets chirped. Unseen but heard.

"You know, Swanlea," Frank spoke to the sky. "I named you after Deneb. She is the bridge for where love meets. The swan she is well known for."

She used to long for him to hold her, hug her, like any father should.

She searched his face and his wanton gaze at the Star.

And that was enough.

"So close, yet so far away. Brighter than all the others".

Frank tipped his glass to the Star Deneb.

And to his father.