Pigeon

2:30 in the morning.

Can't sleep.

The slow, nostalgic, ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway, matches in time with my breath.

A fragile, bird mobile hangs, from my ceiling, hovering, discretely over my head. I can't see anything, but I've memorized where it all is, due to looking up at it my whole life.

I imagined my dad carving every delicate piece by hand, and the taking the time to paint all of them. I reached out to grab one of the weathered figures. As my fingers touched the chalk like paint, I immediately recognized it as the pigeon. My dad's favorite bird.

When I was younger I didn't understand why he liked it, I thought pigeons were just dumb birds that always tried to eat my hotdogs at the park.

He later told me pigeons were smart, stuck with their kin and always came home no matter how far away they ended up from each other.

"Always came home"

I whispered to myself.

I hazy memory, slowly crept in the back of my head.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I want to go to Paris when I grow up!"

Little, five year old me said with enthusiasm, as I twirled around in my princess costume.

"Okay, as long as you promise me one thing."

My dad said with a chuckle.

"What is it daddy?"

"That you don't forget about me, while you're eating croissants on top of the Eiffel Tower!"

We both laughed as he lifted me up and swung me around in the air.

"Why would I forget about you, Daddy?"

"Sigh... just remember to come home, I'll always be here waiting for you to come back."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The last four words echoed in my head as the memory drifted away. 

my mouth slowly formed into a scowl.

'Lies'

I thought.

The world seemed to stop when I came home from school to find my mom crouched weeping  on the floor, rasping out the words:

"Honey...."

"Daddy... isn't coming home tonight...."

It scarred me when I saw my mother, such a strong person, in such a weak state.

I let the wooden fowl go, my hand fell to my chest, and I felt my heartbeat. It was beating in time with the grandfather clock.

Slow and steady.

With a single tear streaming down the side of my cheek, I slowly drifted away into my river of thoughts.