Wounded Hearts Will Conquer

Chapter 2 - Kind Of Like Superman

Chapter 2
Evan
Kind Of Like Superman

I was ten when I saw it.

I was sitting cross-legged in front of the television screen, watching my favorite cartoons. As I giggled to something that had obviously been unbelievably funny to me at that age, I remember it being eerily quiet in my house. Mind you, it was never this quiet in my house, especially with my mother being almost eight months pregnant, and my dad always doing something handy around the house.

But that day, Dad got called in early. He came in my room while I was playing with my trucks and firmly noted that I had to clean my room.

”No,” I exclaimed, with the same amount of firmness. I didn’t even make eye contact with him. I just went along playing with my cars again.

”Excuse me?” he asked.

”I don’t wanna,” I said, gliding my cars around the room. I heard his large footsteps intrude into my bedroom and saw his hand go to pick up one of my favorite trucks.

”Well until you feel the need to, you won’t be seeing this,” he exclaimed.

I watched him walk away in horror as he took one of my favorite toys away from me. “I hate you!” I shouted as he walked out of my room. I silently sat on the floor and cried, hoping my mother would hear and somehow convince him to give me it back.

As the day wore on, it was mid morning and my Dad was nowhere to be found. I asked mom where he had gone and she explained how there was this big emergency and how he was just busy being a hero to all the little people again. When she told me this though, her grassy green eyes held some sort of worry that I couldn’t quite pick up on. She pushed my black hair away from my eyes and told me to go watch cartoons for the morning, and wait for Dad to come home.

That’s how I ended up there, in front of the television in the quiet. A part of me was keeping an ear out for my mom, making sure she was okay. As I was getting into the good part of my show, my mom’s friend Lynette came in and grabbed onto my hand.

”Hey sweetie,” she said, her tone a little too calm. “Want to come show me that new fire truck your father bought for you?”

I always loved showing off my new fire truck. My dad got it for me and told me that every time I worried for him when he went to work, that I could just look at that truck and know that he was safe from all harms, because all the firefighters protect each other, no matter what.

”Sure,” I smiled wide. I dragged her by the hand to my bedroom and picked up the shiny red truck and shoved it her way. But then I heard a shrill cry.

I dropped the brand new truck onto the hardwood floor and it crashed into tiny blood red, metal pieces all over. I immediately ran to the living room and stopped still.

My mom was on her knees in front of the television, her face shiny from the fresh tears now pouring from her bright green eyes. I glanced towards the television, now noticing that my cartoons were no longer appearing on the big screen. Bright oranges and dusty grey brushes of colors were swirled around the television screen as a large building collapsed, floor by floor. My eyes widened at the sight, and I couldn’t seem to take them away from the screen.

”Gregory! Gregory!” My mother cried. She was still on her knees, her large belly covering most of her thighs, as she leaned forward, her palms pressing against her watery eyes. Lynette was by her side, rubbing her back soothingly, pushing pieces of her short black fringe away from her face.

Why was she screaming Daddy’s name, I wondered? She said he was saving the people again, and that he would be home later. What did the building have to do with him?

”Liz, come on sweetie. You need to get up, before you hurt the baby in that position,” she said, using that same eerie tone she used with me, just moments before. She grabbed onto my mother’s hand and pulled her up from the ground, while Mom sobbed loudly into her hands.

”Mommy?” I questioned. I slowly walked over to her, grabbing her soaking wet hand. She finally looked up from the palms of her hands and something small flashed in her eyes, something I couldn’t comprehend again. Then she started sobbing some more, the sounds coming from her throat slowly breaking my heart, because I didn’t know what I could do.

I questioned Lynette the entire night. Why was grandma here? Why is Mommy still crying? What happened with that building? Was it just a movie she put on? And last, but surely not least, its night time, why hasn’t Daddy come home yet?

That night, on September 11, 2001, I lost my Dad to the fiery oranges and grey brushes of colors and smoke. All they kept saying was that he was a hero, that he tried helping some lady get out of the burning room. He should be honored for what he did, we shouldn’t keep crying, they told us.

I didn’t care about all of that. Yes, he saved an innocent woman’s life, but he lost his own. My Dad did not deserve to die. He deserved to come home, to be with his family, to keep saving more people, to do his job.

Who’s the asshole acting as fate that allowed all of this crap to happen?

*****

Today’s the anniversary of my Dad’s death. We’re all dressed in fancy clothes. My mom, dressed in a navy blue summer dress, with her hair pulled back. I’m dressed up in some fancy light blue button up, with black dress pants. And my brother, Greg Jr., is dressed in a dark blue polo with little khakis. As we stand in front of his grave, I’m running my hands through my messy, black hair, making it stand up everywhere. I can’t stand to be near all of this sad, emotional bullshit anymore. I want to have my Dad come home.

I feel little Greg pull on my hand, and look down. He’s the spitting image of my Dad, with bright blonde hair and piercing baby blue eyes. He’s not sporting his usual toothy grin, but more a small frown, looking confused like he does every year that we come here.

”Evan,” he says, still holding onto my large hand in his little one. “Can you tell me about Daddy again?”

My mom looks up at me, giving me a small smile, her eyes clearly watery. She nods her head, giving her approval and looks back at Dad’s site, fingering Dad’s Medal of Honor in between her nimble fingers.

”Well bud, Dad was a hero. He saved all these people from getting hurt,” I explained. He smiled at me, seeming far less confused than he was before.

”So he’s kind of like Superman?” he smiled, sporting that same toothy grin that I knew so well.

I smiled back, gripping his little hand in mine. “Yeah, kind of like Superman.”

”Cool,” he noted, looking back at his grave site. “Do I look like Daddy?”

”Exactly like him bud,” I nodded, fingering his skinny, silver dogs tags that I had placed around my neck. “You’re definitely just like Dad,” I murmured.

”Alright, I think we’re ready to go,” my mother sighed, looking up at me. “You ready, sweetie?”

”I uh, think I need a minute,” I told her, nodding my head towards his site to show her I wanted time alone with him.

”Let’s go, Greg. You’re brother will be there in a minute,” she said softly, grabbing onto his hand and leading him towards the car. As I watched them walk away, I turned my back towards them and sighed heavily.

I felt like these bricks were lying on my chest, keeping my breathing at a rapid, unsteady pace. There was so much weight shoved on my body that I felt as though I couldn’t function normally anymore.

”Dad,” I breathed. “You see how big he’s gotten? He’s the spitting image of you, no matter how big he gets,” I smiled a little to myself. “We have this talk every year and I feel like it never gets me anywhere. Because the sole fact of it is, I just want you back, Dad. And I’m so, so sorry. For everything that happened that morning. I don’t hate you. I need you back. Mom doesn’t even want to replace you yet, and it’s been eleven years. Hell, I don’t think she can find another guy like you. She needs you Dad. We all need you. I just wish you could be back here with the three of us again,” I breathed, fingering the tags in my hands, turning them left and right. I felt as though if I held onto them long enough, it would bring me closer to him somehow, in some mysterious way.

I felt a small amount of moisture prick at my lids and quickly coughed, rubbing my eyes fervently with my fists. I kissed my hand and placed it on his gravesite.

”I love you, Superman,” I said, before I walked away. I made my way back to my mom’s car, gripping onto the metal of the tags roughly, silently wishing he could just come back so I could say sorry the right way.