Backlogged Dreams [h.s]

two

Majorie Truman

June 25, 1964

Being the stereotypical man, I've only seen my father cry less than a handful of times my entire life. The first time was when the twins were born, and then another time was when June was born. The last time I witnessed him crying was at Anthony's wedding, where he got emotional at June and me being cute little flower girls while Tommy and Willie were the ring bearers.

Spoiler, he also cried at his oldest child getting married.

After loading the car full of my bags and instruments and saying goodbye to everyone at home, my dad and I started heading toward the airport. The two of us sat in a comfortable silence with the radio on a low volume, but loud enough for me to hear Fun, Fun, Fun by The Beach Boys.

It wasn't until the song was over that I noticed my dad sniffling every so often with tears threatening to leave the eyes behind his square glasses.

He notices the new attention on him and clears his throat. "You're all... growing up, you know? It's hard to handle."

"I know, Dad. I can't imagine it's very fun to slowly watch all your kids grow up and move out." Offering him a small smile, I pick at the underneath of my nails as he continues to speak.

"Never thought I'd see the day you'd leave the country though. Figured you'd take your passion of music and playing up to Nashville," He sniffed, "Your mom and I assumed you'd be close enough to visit once you made a name for yourself as a musician. It's not next door like Anthony, but it's not as far as Jamaica, New York, or Los Angeles."

He sniffs again before I respond. "I go where the universe wants me, it seems," I shrugged, looking at him with a sympathetic smile, "Being in Harry's band, writing with him. He is where it's taken me."

The songs on the radio stretch the hour or so of silence between the two of us into what feels like five hours. I honestly couldn't say how long we'd be in the car, only knowing how far away we were from the airport thanks to the road signs.

I dealt with the silence by fetching out my songbook. I had been using it for years, but now there was a genuine reason for me to write songs and share them with people. And this time, I'll be able to show the songs to people who will actually use it.

I smile as I open the page to the first song I wrote, messing handwriting and all.

"Seems the only one who doesn't see your beauty

Is the face in the mirror looking back at you"

Thinking back to my father's words from our previous conversation, I pull a pencil out of my carry-on bag, turn back to the next empty page, and scramble the first thing in my mind. I figure that if I can get the idea on a piece of paper, the rest of the song can wait until later.

"Don't you ever grow up, just stay this little"

"What're you writing over there, darling?" My dad asks while I close the book.

"You've inspired me." I smile.

It's only a few more minutes to the airport, and I spend that time reading, singing, and explaining some of my songs to my father. Once we get to the airport, he leaves me with one teary-eyed sentence before I'm sent on my own.

"We're very, very proud of you, Marjorie."