Love Thy Father

A father’s love lingers in the air, cast like a shadow by the darkness believed to reside within you. Did you leave out of fear and regret? Or was my worth measured only by a number handed to my mother for so-called support?

Your reactions are falsifiable, while my actions are justifiable. The pain of the past always lingers—as your love toward me. Is it truthful, falsifiable, or justifiable that love comes in many shades? Shades that sometimes fade under the weight of what lingers within us. The acceptance of some perceptions might open your eyes to new possessions.

The truth hurts. Lies burn—burn within the very heart that keeps your love captive from a world penetrated by man. A father’s love—your love—feels weak to me because it leads you so far away. So far away that my words of justification are never heard across the many miles that grant you escape from these words of protection.

A father’s love is sometimes like no love at all—craved by many, many as flawed as me, trying to escape the path of destruction running deep in their veins.

The future creeps in like the mist on a cool summer day. Like love, it swallows you whole—into the belly of the beast you must face one day. When that day comes, when the bell rings for what seems like eternity, I’ll still call—even if the miles that separate us break into a whirlwind of tornadoes.

I guess that’s what makes us different: danger is never faced alone, unconquered, or unwilling—especially not by the blind man who sees what’s needed to obtain the unobtainable.

_____To My Father

My brother—let’s call him Marlin, nickname “Chi-Chi”—was always the first to know my plans, my partner-in-crime. Somehow, I always took the blame for our failed missions. It always ended the same way:

“Quenta did it! She made me do it! I didn’t do it!”

But, truthfully, I did.

Marlin was younger than me by almost a year. Even though he caused most of my trouble, he would still cuddle up with me on the floor when I convinced him to watch scary movies while our mama was gone. He’d curl up next to me in bed when I was afraid of the dark. He was the first person I thought of whenever I remembered the loud, chaotic, overly dramatized scenes of my childhood.

“Chi-Chi, I’m gonna go get Mama’s phone out her purse to call Deddy to pick us up.”

His face was plump and round, smeared with whatever snack he had just devoured. He beamed, lighting up with that mole on his cheek, wide with mischief. “Okkkkkk,” he said, as best he could, his mouth still full of food.

The sponge carpet was soft and bumpy beneath my feet, muffling the sound of my steps as I tiptoed into Mama’s room. “There it is.” Her purse sat on the bed, buried beneath a mountain of laundry still warm from the dryer. Her purse was a mess—stuffed with Burlington receipts (her favorite store), chewing gum, and loose coins. I finally found her phone—a black one, cracked slightly at the corner, with a silver case.

I called. It rang.

No answer.

I called again.

A strange voice said, “Sorry, the person you called can’t come to the phone right now.”

That moment reminded me of the first time I couldn’t reach him—when I realized I wouldn’t see him again for a long time. My pulse pounded in my throat, and my chest felt like it was clutched by an invisible fist. A looming presence whispered it was all my fault, though the words never left his mouth. I heard them loud and clear the day he first left:

“Sorry, the person you need can’t be here right now.”

I tried again. This time, a woman answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Deddy?”

She yelled his name into the phone like she already knew the answer to a question she didn’t want to ask. “Marlon?”

My shoulders tensed. My brother scurried beside me, ear pressed close.

Then: “Bae-Bae?”

His nickname for me.

It brought back the memories—me sitting on his lap while he kissed my cheek, the tickle and itch of his stubble, the way it made the kiss last a little longer. I was a daddy’s girl, once.

“Bae-Bae?”

“Deddy?” I asked, barely able to contain my excitement.

“Hey baby girl, what you been up to?”

“Nothing, Deddy,” I said, with an eye-roll I tried to hide behind sweetness. “Can me and Marlin come to your house today?”

“Uh, yeah, baby girl. I’ll come get y’all.”

Marlin and I darted to our rooms and packed our bags. What we packed was anything but essential—probably no toothbrushes, one pair of underwear, and a handful of mismatched clothes. We placed our bags at the bottom of the stairwell, trepidation building as we sat there, waiting.

Waiting…

“Bae-Bae.”

There was a figure in the doorway. A man I knew all too well. Yet he was vanishing right in front of me.

“Deddy, Deddy don’t go!”

I woke up.

Mama was covering us with a blanket. Quiet. A sadness shimmered in her eyes, though she smiled like she was seeing through us—shouldering our pain so we wouldn’t have to.

We sat there waiting, counting the days until…

Years later.

He opened the door.

We were older now. At his house. With his new family.

“Hey, I’d like you to meet Miss Layla, your stepmother. And our kids—Makai, Malik, and Merrick.”

A woman stepped forward.

“Hi… Nice to meet you. I’ve met you before. You were little…”