The Firefly Field Theory

|15| Jerónimo: Part III

PART III:

Everybody starts moving nearer to the edge. There are old men and children, suspended on the same roof as me. They remain seated but inch forward by forcing themselves up on their palms. I move away from the edge. It's about six of us. Five move to safety and one nut retreats. I hear the paddles sway through the water and then a thump when the inflated orange boat meets the wall holding up the wooden roof. I peak down a little and see the front man in the boat, extend his hands up. And people nearest to his grip reach out to him, one by one the rescuers help the people onto the boat.

Soon I'm the only one left here. I hear the front man of the life boat call out again, maybe he's checking if anybody is left. That's my cue. I stand up, and even though my knees ache and my back cracks a little in this action, the strength I have in me, should be showing in my eyes. I stare down at the now populated life boat, and the man extends his hands. The cold evening air swirls around me, and makes my bones shiver. I look into the back of the boat, Dad is helping someone strap on their safety vest. He still doesn't see me.

The front man by now is confused, he waves his hands and I once thoroughly shake my head for him. He frowns. I collapse onto the edge and pull my legs to my chest. The man begins to talk to me, I shake my head again. He gets louder; Dad gets done with the vest he was tying. The front man speaks more loudly and firmly; Dad looks up. I switch my gaze to him.

You know that moment when you think you have tunnel vision, the peripheral visual knowledge gets so bleak and muted you think the only existing thing is the thing before you, the person I stare at through the tunnel. Maybe he's my father. A more demoted and worn out version as compared to my childhood memories. For a moment, the sounds of people fade away. He sits down there in the boat, the oar clutched in both hands, he sits in the life he's chosen and I sit up here isolated on a rooftop, shivering and drenched to my underwear. His lips part and instantly he stands up, making the boat sway a little. He leaves the oar suspended, and plants his foot over it, stepping closer to see the cat stuck in the tree. I sit still.

"Samha?" His torn up voice, makes every passenger of the boat turn to look at him and then turn to look at me.

"Hey Dad." I say blankly. The front man, starts to converse with Dad, I assume he says, 'Is this idiot your fault' and then Dad answers in Urdu, 'I can't remember I do think I've seen her before.' The front man says something, probably 'Wait a second it's a girl'

And Dad says, 'Well I think so, that's what I remember from before I ran away into the mystical world to fulfill my destiny.'

No that's just me then.

Dad steps ahead of the man and says, "Samha, what are you doing up there?"

His voice is so unfamiliar; it takes me a while to fully integrate it with the image of him in my mind. It takes me a while to realize that it is my Dad talking to me. I have my side of the conversation thought through, "Where were you when I swam all the way up here?"

He looks even more baffled, "You did what? Samha you swam here? Why?"His voice quivers. I am adamant today is the day I will clear things, "Answer me first."

He sighs, shuts his eyes and grips the bridge of his nose, "I was in the ambulance, getting first aid." Then he extends his hand, "Come down, let's go somewhere safe."

The edge of the roof; is so close to his hand, that if he jumps a little he might catch it. And if he forces himself up he will be on the roof with me and maybe we could talk. "I'm fine here, Dad."

"What? Don't be unreasonable, come down." he waves his open palm, near the edge, but never grabs hold of it. "No, you come up." I add.

"Why?"