I saw you, Dad.
I saw you through the screen door of that house I don’t know. I was on the second floor, up on stilts, so we must have been on the coast somewhere. You were sitting in a lawn chair, facing the house. I don’t know why. When you saw me, you waved, casually. Here I am, you said with your wave, simultaneously trying to catch my eye and still telegraph your nonchalant style. If you’re looking for me, here I am… not that it’s any big deal.
I was looking, Dad, out of the screen door of this strange coastal house. I saw you.
I bolted through the door and screamed down those rickety stairs, watching with some measure of disbelief at how quickly my feet were moving. I arrived safely at the bottom, fighting the urge to glance back at my accomplishment – but I didn’t want to take my eyes off of her.
I wanted to run to you and to fall into your arms, Dad, but she was there, right beside you. And Dad, it’s been so long since I’ve seen her, I’m sure you understood why I went to her first.
I sprinted the fifteen yards or so from the stairs to where you both were sitting. She tried to stand up, and partially succeeded, but I was there in an instant, crouching down, holding her. We squatted there, like fools, hugging, and I was overwhelmed with joy and surprise and relief. I touched her arms and face, inspecting her. She was thin, and her hair was cropped short, but she was smiling and strong and limber and there. She was there, and I was there. We were together, and it was real.
I was desperate for the moment not to end. So desperate that I actually thought to myself as she smiled at me, Please don’t let this end. Let me stay, at least for a while.
Of course, that’s when I was yanked away. I startled awake, gasping, cold air filling my lungs. I was alone in my dark bedroom. She was gone.
And I missed you.
I closed my eyes again, trying to recreate the scene. I saw you again, Dad, waving. You were wearing one of your mesh trucker hats, propped high on your head, and a red plaid button down shirt, with short sleeves. Your tan legs were crossed, right ankle resting on left knee, making it hard to see your khaki shorts.
Without taking the time to really look, I could see Mom again too, sitting next to you. She was wearing that beige and white seersucker shirt, the one that, if I’m being honest, I always thought was kind of an odd choice for her.
I bolted again, but when I was about halfway down the stairs, my eyes opened. The first hints of daylight peeked from behind the blinds.
I kept trying, over and over, and I kept seeing you sitting there, waving. It fell apart each time before I got down the stairs. And each time I opened my eyes, the sun was a bit brighter.
My opportunity was missed. The window, closed.
I’ll do better next time, Daddy.
I promise.
