The Day It Happened

symbolic short, short, short story.

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I woke up and got out of bed.

I started down the dark hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible.  It was weird for me to be up this early on a Saturday.  I tiptoed past the old man’s door, one that hadn’t been opened for ages.  The spiderwebs surrounding the door gave it an eerie feel. Surely by now his long tangled hair, sunken eyes, and painfully thin frame had grown worse.  I glanced at the boarded up window and moved on to the kitchen.

The peaceful July sun was rising, its warm oranges and welcoming yellow rays silhouetting everything in the room, complimenting the peach coloured walls.  I could hear the birds singing and I sat down at the table, looking down at the polished wood.

Everything in the room gleamed.  I always kept the house clean, though there was no reason to.  It was spotless but we had no visitors.  We hadn’t had a guest in forever, though every week I spent hours tidying.  Pointless really, but I guess I just did it to help the days pass.

I made myself a bowl of cereal and sat down to eat.  The sun was up all the way now, the deep green forest calling to me in the distance.  I could sit and stare out the window for hours.  No one would ever notice if I were to leave.

I’d dreamed of it a thousand times.  Packing my bags, closing the door behind me and never looking back.  I’d find a place in town, only fifteen miles away.  Or I could stay at a friend’s house.  But I never did.  I’d left for a day or two to have a sleepover or travel a bit, but I couldn’t bring myself to depart permanently.  I’d feel too guilty.

My father never left his bedroom.  He hadn’t since last December, and it hadn’t even been Christmas.  Before that, he hadn’t come out since that January.  I don’t know why he stays in there.  All I can remember is what caused it.

It wasn’t the death of his beautiful wife and son, nor was it the tragedy of our last house burning down.  It wasn’t all his friends turning on him, nor the fact that he was diagnosed with cancer.  No, it was because of me.  I begged and begged him to go out with my friends one night.  He said alright and when I was leaving, I kissed him on the cheek and hugged him extra tight.  I love you Daddy! I exclaimed as I bolted out the door.  When I came back that night, he was sitting in the corner, muttering to himself.  He was surrounded by dirt that hadn’t been there before.  I went to sleep after asking him once what was wrong and complaining that he was being weird, when I got frustrated and left him.

I didn’t know that that was the night the doctor called and diagnosed him.  He was so broken, and I was so selfish.  It was also exactly two months after our house burned down, and we lost my brother and mom.

Ever since, I haven’t been able to pay for technology, so we have no phone or computer or television.  The only things I buy are food and clothing.  I work a job, I make enough money. 

I just wish that I knew my father.

Fast forward

I decided to not go into town.  I went as quietly as possible down the dark hallway.  There were no lights in it, and the deep navy blue wallpaper was ripping.  This was the only part of our house that wasn’t clean.  I can’t spend too much time in it nor make too much noise.  I’m terrified of my dad.

I went into my bedroom.  The light lavender walls were lined with my paintings-  trees and flowers and landscapes, all so positive and bright that you’d think that they were to compliment what I feel on the inside.  I slipped on shoes and started out the door.  Walking into the forest, I was greeted by the familiar sounds of the wildlife.  I walked to my favourite clearing, the one with a huge gap in the canopy where warm sunlight illuminated the stones and small stream where only the teeniest minnows could swim.  I took a seat by the stream and hummed to myself.

Today was the day I was going to talk to my father.

Rewind

I practiced out loud.

Hi Dad.  I would have the door partially open here, my head poking in.  I made sandwiches.  Your favourite.  It’s at your place at the dinner table.  Don’t take too long to come and eat.  I love you.

I repeated that about five times, then I got up.  I went over to the tree that my mom carved “I love you, my little Ivy” in.  We had gone there together and I was telling her how I thought that carving in trees was something I’d like to do at some point in my life.

That was seven years ago, when I was nine.

I was back in my house, and I walked to the kitchen.  I made two sandwiches, and set them at the table.  I started to the back hallway.

I had a smile on my face and I was shaking with excitement.

I was going to have my daddy back, no matter what it took.

I looked in the mirror, and I had the biggest grin on my face.  The biggest one I’ve had in…years.

I eagerly cracked open the door.

Stop

My father lay in his bed.  I started my speech.  Hi Dad.  I looked at him, still with a happy expression.  I decided to step into the room.  It had a stench that was nearly unbearable, but I got over it- things could only go up from here.  I ignored the mess, unlike any other I’d seen before.  It was the kind of mess that could only be created by someone that had truly given up.

I walked over to the bed.  I made sandwiches.  Your fa-

I took a good long hard look at the man in the bed.  A warm tear started rolling down my face.

My father was dead.

I went into my room.  I laid down in my bed, putting the covers over me, curled up.  I never planned on leaving.

Why the hell did I wait so long.

Reviews

[Joe Shetina]

Love the fast forward and rewind. Very original and touching story.

[Darksummerswind]

I like this story. It has a great impact of emotion and imagery all summed up nicely. I really liked the fast forward and rewind too, it was something I hadn't seen before.

[Luke Ritta]

I really enjoyed this!!

[Tai Ryens]

How sad. Amazingly written story with lots of emotion. Touched me deeply.
-Tandi