Questions

        How did I end up here? Why do I have to be on this stupid train? I ask myself, my chin resting on my knees. My arms locked around my legs tightly to keep them in place, rocking myself slightly back and forth in a motion I’ve always found soothing. I hate trains, I always have. It hasn’t even started moving yet and I’m dreading the terrible rumbling sound it makes and its horrifyingly fast speed. I’ve always felt trapped whenever I had to take the train, the stations being underground and the fact that I can’t open the windows to get a little fresh air always gives me an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. Tears now freely flow down my cheeks, as I crumple the letter my father left to me. I used to think by the time I got to twenty five I would be somewhere in an art gallery explaining to people what my pieces meant and what inspired me to create such unique art. Instead, here I am, sad and alone on this seat in the train trying to figure out where to go from here. 

           I would’ve much rather to take a plane but I was strapped for cash and I refused to beg or borrow from anyone so the train it had to be. My dad’s dead, gone just like that and I can’t do a damn thing but sit here and cry about it. Light streams in from the window directly into my eyes, distracting me momentarily from the crushed envelope in my left fist, letting my legs loose I bring the letter to my face. The words on the envelope are large enough for my eyes to make out even with the sun shining in my eyes. “To Danielle Porter, From Dave Porter” The words read and even without the words I would’ve known whom it was from and that it was for me. Dad would always leave me little notes when I was younger in an attempt to cheer me up, whether it was after I placed second in a competition or if I was just too clumsy and fell that day. He would know the right words that would bring a smile to my face. The moment I saw the envelope on my bed in my childhood room I knew it was from dad’s way of finding a way to make me smile. 

       But, not this time Dad, no matter what was in this envelope it couldn’t possibly stop the ache I feel now, the yearning I had to talk to you one last time or how impossibly lost I’ve been feeling lately and how much more that feeling of being lost has intensified since getting the news of your passing.

               I start to unfold the crumpled envelope, straightening out the creases and using my palms to flatten it out against my denim covered thigh. What could my father possibly have to say to me in his final moments that he couldn’t say over the phone? Or even in person? He clearly knew that his days were coming to an end to have written the damn thing in the first place, if he had told me he felt weak or anything close to that I would’ve come home. We could have spent his final days together but no. He decided a letter was more fitting for his own child. I have half a mind to burn it. I don’t want to know, all it’s going to do is make me even more sad and do what I’ve really become good at over the years, cry. 

      No. I need to know. I open the envelope, tearing a small piece at the top left end and running a nail from the small tear to the other end of the envelope. I remove the letter from its prison and unfold it gently, scared to damage the last thing my father left to me. “My dearest Dani, I know you already know this, but I love you. I want you to know that you have never disappointed me in any way. I wrote this letter to remind you of who you are. You are smart, kind, caring and talented. While I could write a book full of words just describing just how wonderful I think you are, I don’t have the time and as your father I have to tell you the truth. You my dear, have just one thing holding you back from being everything you want to be and more. You are too hard on yourself, sunshine. I saw it in your eyes the last time you came to see me. It’s the same look you had when Lisa hit her head when you both were playing in the backyard and you saw her bleed. You’re scared Dani and that’s okay. But, I losing yourself in all that fear is what I won’t allow, not even in my grave. You can’t let one failure make you feel like you’re not good enough Dani. I know you’re scared you might fail again, But, you won’t and even if you do. Learn and grow from it, become a better version of the phenomenal human being you are now." I couldn't read anymore. I would't.

       I look up from the letter and my brown eyes meet the bright green eyes of a little girl, sitting in the seat directly across from me. Her dark brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail and two duffel bags are on the seat next to her. “Do you have a boo boo?” She asks, her little mouth forming a frown as her eyes scan me for bruises. I fold the letter carefully and put it back in the torn envelope, sniffling as I did so. "No, I don't have a boo boo and you shouldn't talk to strangers." I respond, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. " Are you scared of something on the train?" She asks, her green eyes flash with concern. "No, I-. I'm not scared either." I respond, straightening up in my seat. "Oh,I know! You're sad. Something on that paper made you sad, Miss. But it's okay because I have candy! When my mommy gets back with the other bags she'll give you some and a big hug! Then you'll be all better." She gives me a wide smile and she stands up and looks down the aisle for her mom. This time she whispers, "I'm not 'pposed to talk to strangers, but I didn't want you be sad anymore. 'cause you're pretty and my mommy says pretty girls look even more pretty when they're happy."

"Didn't you're mom tell you that too? Is that why you're sad now?" She asks, tilting her head to the side. "No, I'm sad because my dad's d-. He left yesterday. My dad is gone." I said to her, leaning my head against the train window.I couldn't tell her my dad was dead and we buried him yesterday, she was trying to help me. "My dad's gone too. I get sad because he's not here but, my mommy always makes me feel better whenever I'm sad and I make her feel better sometimes too. What about your mommy? She could give you a big hug and some ice-cream! Is she gone?" The questions roll off her tongue. With each one I answer, two more seem to come in her mind. "My, mom's not gone. She's at her house, I left her there." I answer another question. "So, who's gonna make your mommy feel better?" Her little nose scrunched in confusion. It was my turn to ask her question. "What do you mean?". " Huh? I, meannnnnn, if you're sad cause your dad's gone. Your mommy is sad too right? Mommies and Daddies live together. If your dad's gone you're mommy must be sad too. Who's gonna give her hugs if you and your dad are gone?" This question is the only she has asked that I can't seem find an answer for. I look to the envelope I placed in my lap and pick up the letter once more and continued reading. "Dani, I know you want to chase your dreams and I still want you to do that but please, include your mother in your plans for the future. I know you two have had trouble connecting before but, we both love you and only one of us is going to be around to say those words to you still. Don't you still want to hear them? Take care of her and yourself. Love always, Dad."