Stoic Face

My father's face reminded me of an ancient relic displayed in a museum. It was a heavy marble bust with a stoic expression that never wavered. The longer I scrutinized it, the more I became in awe of the permanent harsh lines seemingly carved into the smooth surface. Determined to one-day beat him, I engaged in staring contests with him. A few times I wondered if his face would crack into a million pieces if he ever attempted to smile. I asked my older brother why our father's face was like that.

He simply replied, "Because he has a resting bitch face."

It was Saturday and the alarm clock went off. I looked at the blinking red dashes on the alarm clock and it was three fifteen in the morning. Seeing that it was an absurdly early time I though the alarm had gone off by accident. I cuddled back underneath the warm blanket but then the bedroom light was turned on. A tap on my shoulder was followed by my father's voice.

"Wake up, it's time to get up."

Even though I was not fully awake, something was off. The voice that woke me was my father's but I could have sworn that was not the same stone visage I was used to. His face somehow seemed lighter.

I dragged myself to the kitchen where a bowl of cold cereal was waiting for me. My brother inhaled his food with two swoops of his spoon. My little sister was in her highchair with her head plopped onto the table. Hypnotized by the soft hum of her snores, I stared into my bowl as the crunchy corn flakes absorbed the milk and turned to mush. My parents briefly stated how today was one of the coldest days on record. My mother gently picked up my sister as to not wake her.

"Finish up," my mother whispered.

"But I'm not hungry."

"Ok, well go get dressed. We can't be late."

Since it was apparently so cold outside, I decided to put on about half a dozen layers and could barely move. I was a ball of clothes that waddled to the living room and rolled myself onto the couch. My father walked in wearing linen pants, a cotton chacabana shirt, and a Tigres del Licey baseball cap. We just looked at each other.

"You're wearing summer clothes?"

"Yes."

"But you said it's going to be really cold today."

"True, it's going to be cold here. But it's going to be hot where we're going."

"What?

"We'll have sand instead of snow. Palm trees instead of pine trees."

As he said this I could have sworn some of the harsh lines had vanished from his face. He even looked a few years younger if that was even possible.

"Now hurry up and go change."

I went to my room again did as I was told. I felt a lot limber after I took off three sweaters and the bulky ski pants. I kept a t-shirt, light sweater, and only one pair of jeans on.

We all ran downstairs and it was still pretty dark outside. The frigid wind literally pushed the front door open with such force I almost fell back. My mother, sister, and I rushed into the gypsy cab. It was freezing inside and I saw fog come out of our mouths when we spoke. Once my father and brother finished loading the luggage into the trunk, they entered the cab and we all huddled together for warmth. The cabbie turned around and casually said that the radiator was broken. My mother immediately tried to renegotiate the fare with the cabbie, which lead to a raging mini battle between them. I looked at my father. The street lamp on the corner had cast a partial spotlight on his face. I could not tell if he was a man who had emerged from the shadows or a man who had sought refuge in the shadows. While he still had that stoic aura about him, he also seemed serene, lost in peaceful thought.