I came as soon as I heard. You OK, Dad?
I pull up outside a two-storied house. My home when I was growing up. I haven’t been back here in what, six, seven years? Man, time sure has flown me by.
The car door slams shut. Its reverberating echo is absorbed into the surrounding woods. I stretch, standing on my tippy-toes, then cup my hands to my mouth, exhaling. Boy, it’s cold, I think to myself, as dense vapor clouds warm and escape my hands.
Funny, you never mentioned you liked gardening, or at least, kept a garden.
I walk along the path leading to the front door, my boots sink a little into the gravel path as I take each crunchy step. The seasonal Acashia’s are wilted, lining the short walk to the home. My home.
Not sure how I’ll reach you, seeing as you don’t have a phone. I hope this letter finds you well.
I try the door, it’s locked. If I were you, Dad, where would I keep the keys? I look around…nope, not under the ‘Welcome’ mat. The wooden porch groans as I pace about. My eyes fall upon the door frame, spotting a wedge of Styrofoam, expertly painted over to match the color of the wooden supports. I grin wildly, a childhood memory comes unbidden. It’s 8th Grade, I was struggling to get my science fair project out the door, impatiently I charged through and the corner of my metal display chipped out a sizable chunk of the door frame. You promised you wouldn’t tell Mom. And you didn’t.
You never got around to fixing that did you? You old coot.
If any place, the spare key would have to be there. I rush over and pull at the styrofoam, it gives easily and reveals a small brass key in the resulting alcove. I congratulate myself and unlock the door.
It feels weird to enter, without you or mom beside me. Maybe I should come back at a later date? Nah, I know you really want certain stuff from the house, I’ll see to it then.
I walk through the silent house, for a time, sort of aimlessly. I find myself in my old room. Obviously all my stuff are gone but the furniture remain. A thin layer of dust has settled on my old writing desk. I absently trace a smiley face on the surface.
Because surface? Get it? It’s a play on words…Never-mind, you wouldn’t get it, Dad. You never really tried to understand me anyway.
The bed is made, my childhood covers tucked into its sides. As if saying, ‘the day you come home, i’ll be here, waiting for you to sleep in me!’ Well, I’m home, bed. I smile wistfully at that thought, before leaving the room. I wander around for a bit, before finally stopping in the living room.
You better appreciate how far I drove, just to get these items you so want from the house, Dad. See, I’m trying to prove my worth to you, deep down I’ve never stopped trying.
A pale shaft of morning light streams through a gap in the blinds. A constant film of dust filters across it, stirred up by my presence. Jeez, how long has it been since you vacuumed, Dad, six days? I chuckle to myself.
Surely you’ll appreciate this joke eh? Actually on second thought, it sounded much better in my head.
I look at the list I’ve been holding in my hand. First item, a photograph in his drinking cabinet. Odd place but I reserve comment, making my way across the room. The hinges squeak as I open the cabinet. It’s easy to spot, being the only non-alcoholic item within.
I rub away at the dust-coated photograph, the picture is faded but I make out just enough to see a family smiling, standing outside a…museum? Oh! This was a trip we took as a family, to Madam Tussades in DC, nostalgia fills me and I smile faintly at the memory.
You don’t strike me as someone who would treasure the past, Dad. I mean, that’s why Mom left you wasn’t it? You just didn’t care. Not enough, anyway.
The next item on the list is above the fireplace mantle. I do a double-take as I realize what it is.; My old Transformers toy. Optimus Prime, savior of the Human Race, Protector and Friend. ‘Autobots, roll out!’ I would always say, in my childhood. For years it was my favorite object. Until the day I was introduced to what would later become my one, true love. The Sony Playstation. Anyway, I always thought I had misplaced Optimus, or threw him away.
Well it looks like you found him, Dad. You’re really surprising me, old man. All these years you never cared but suddenly you’re a family man? The wonders of age, huh?
I go through the rest of the list fairly quickly, each item threatening to bring a tear to my eye.
You’ll never get me to cry over you, Dad. Heh.
I put them all in a cardboard box and load it into the trunk of my car. Turning back, I take one last, long look, at this place I’ve called home, for the earlier twenty years of my life. I try to commit everything to memory, the faded blue roof shingles. The scorch mark below my room windowsill. (I once tried to set off fireworks from my room.) The peeling brown paint. The wilted Acashias.
The engine starts up. I turn onto the main road and drive off, watching as the house slowly recedes in the rear-view mirror.
I’ll get back in time, Dad. Before they lower the casket into the ground, I’ll make sure these things are right there, next to you. Of all the things that were too late between us, this won’t be one of them.
I’m coming back for you, Dad.
