What We Don't Know

Fiction based on an actual event in my life.

 

 

What We Don't Know

 

Nobody ever calls in the middle of the night with good news. I reached the hospital too late to say goodbye to Dad, but that was par for the course. We had been missing each other one way or another for years. And watching someone take their last breath must be one of the hardest things a person could ever do, regardless of how many times we might watch it on television. I know he wouldn't want me remembering him like that, so I had to believe that he died alone because that's how he wanted it.

I spent a few minutes quietly wondering what I would have said had I gotten there sooner, but nothing came to mind. I signed some papers, made some arrangements, and went home. I figured I could wait a few hours to start making the calls that would ruin someone else's day. Sleep was out of the question, so I pulled out an old photograph album. I had the images burned into my brain – there were only three - but I looked at them anyway.

The first photograph was one taken of me with my father on my fourteenth birthday. It was the first time I had seen him since he took off, disappeared, skipped town, whatever you want to call it. He just showed up one day in some long green car, bag of presents in the back seat, redhead in the front. He brought me a couple stuffed animals and a silver-color necklace with my initial hanging on it. “Can't stay,” he said, big smile on his puffy face. “Carla and I are headed for Los Angeles. Big deal going down, have to be there in a couple days.” He gave me a hug. “Couldn't go without stopping and seeing my best girl, though!” Two minutes later they were a dusty streak, taking the corner like they were being chased or something. Happy birthday.

Photograph number two was actually taken long before that day. Fourteen years in fact. In the hospital, the proud daddy holding his baby girl, all smiles and joy and hope for the future. Mama had taken the picture herself, happy to see him so happy, and wanting to keep that moment in time forever. On the back she had written, 'Sam and Jilly 8-29-60'.

The last was my favorite. Most recent, a good day for both of us. We had met at his favorite restaurant for his birthday, neither of us knowing it would be his last. The one thing we could always agree on was food, and he had asked the waiter to take a photo of us sharing a plate of linguine. The poor guy must have thought we were crazy, but he took the picture anyway. We were both laughing, and it was clearly a comfortable moment for us. My absolute favorite memory of my father.

The sun was starting to come up, and I pulled out my address book. I had the numbers of my father's two brothers, and although I was pretty sure they hadn't spoken for years, I knew that they were my first calls. I hadn't spoken to Keith myself for probably ten years, but only because there was no real reason to. No ill feelings, just nothing to talk about. Billy, though, was another story. He had never seemed to like me much, and I never understood why. It wasn't so much the way he acted toward me, more the way he avoided me. I dialed Keith.

“Jilly.” The magic of caller id. At least I didn't have to tell him who was calling - just why.

“Hey Uncle Keith. Nothing personal, but I'd give just about anything not to have to call you today. No easy way to say this – Dad died last night.” I waited for him to say something. Anything. I could hear him breathing, but he was too quiet.

“Um, are you okay?”

“Jilly, I'm sorry. I know you two were just starting to really get to know each other. His timing never was any good.” He sighed, a sad kind of sound I hadn't heard from him before. “What can I do?”

“Call Billy for me? I never know how to talk to him, and I honestly have no idea how to tell him. I think the funeral is going to be Thursday, but I'll have to let you know for sure. I'd like to be able to get together with everyone before that, because I know how everyone just wants to take off after these things, and I would really like to spend a little more time with what's left of my family.” I hadn't meant to cry, but Keith could hear it in my voice.

“It's okay, Jilly. I'll call him.” He paused for a moment, then said something I didn't understand. “There are a couple people I need to call that you won't know. It's important for them to be there. I'll explain later.” He hung up before I could ask any questions. But he had said he would explain later, and I had too many other things to deal with to worry about it.

I was going to have to go to Dad's apartment and start packing things, find his address book and see who else I had to call, and finally get a look at who he really was. I knew that the person he was letting me get to know wasn't the real Sam Martin, but I was willing to accept whatever of himself he was willing to share with me. I had been without a father for way too long, and I was grateful for the opportunity to spend any time with him I could. This would be my first visit to his place, since we always met somewhere else. I had brought his key along from the hospital, and I was a little nervous when I turned it in the lock. What was I going to find?

The first thing I did was look for his address book. His desk was neatly organized, and I found it easily. I started paging through, wondering where to start. Fortunately, there were very few names, and it only took me twenty minutes to work my way through. Nobody seemed overly distraught, all offered their condolences, most seemed surprised he had a daughter. That was okay – most of my friends barely knew I had a father, so it seemed fair enough. I told them all that there would be an announcement in the newspaper about the service as soon as everything was finalized.

I looked around the small apartment, imagining my father at the kitchen counter, fixing a meal, or sitting in front of the tv, watching the news. It still didn't seem quite real, but there was no denying it. I found the bedroom at the end of a short hallway, opened the closet, and started picking out the last suit he would ever wear. He had several, all pretty much the same. Navy, gray, black, brown. I decided on the gray, because it would match his eyes. Then I realized that no one would be seeing his eyes, and I went with the navy. Seemed more solemn, more dignified. Less like I remembered him, but more appropriate for the situation. Light blue shirt, striped tie. He would look nice.

His shoes were lined up on the floor of the closet, and I pulled out the black boots. They would be covered up anyway, and I knew how much he liked them. Funny how little things like that were coming to mind. Socks- better have socks. His dresser drawers were as tidy as his desk had been. Socks went onto the bed with the rest of the clothes. I realized I was going to have to pack up everything in the drawers, the closets- everything- and I figured I might as well start with the dresser. I knew a lot of his clothes would be donated to the local clothing bank, so I found a large garbage bag in the kitchen, and started with the socks. Boxer shorts – no, I don't think so. Methodically, I emptied his drawers, donations in the bag, things to toss, in the corner on the floor. I tried not to think about what I was doing- deciding what part of my father's life to keep, what to throw away – so I thought about what Mama would say if she were still around. She would have cried a little, for what had once been, but then she would have pulled herself together and gotten down to work. I could hear her voice like she were right beside me.

“Now you know as well as I do that nobody needs 17 pairs of socks. This will make a lot of men down at the shelter very happy. And those shirts – all in such good condition! The pants too. This is a very good thing we're doing here, and don't feel bad about it. He surely doesn't need this stuff anymore, and there are folks who can really use it.” Yes, Mama. This is a good thing.

I hadn't really learned much more about who my father was, other than he seemed overly fond of socks and dark blue. Maybe the desk would be more helpful. I had stopped when I found the address book, so I had no idea what else might be there. Maybe a diary that said ' this is who I was, and what I wanted, and what I dreamed.' Yeah, sure. But sometimes it's what you don't see that speaks louder than what you find. I thought I'd read that somewhere, and it just seemed somehow appropriate.

I don't know what wasn't there – after all, it wasn't there – but what I did find was much more than I had imagined. I found my father.

 

There was a small notebook inside a wooden box. There were photographs that I had never seen. And there were questions that needed to be answered. I had to take the clothes to the funeral home, but that would have to wait till the next day. That box was going home with me before I did anything else. I was going to spend the rest of that day getting to know my dad.

Four hours later, I was still entranced by a love story that I never could have imagined. Why hadn't anyone told me? Who were these people, after all, that they could know something so deep, so intense, and not let me in on it? I looked at the photographs again. I now had more than just three pictures of me with my father. And there were some with Mama, too. Finally, photos of me with my mother. I didn't know any existed – she was always behind the camera, never in front of it. I had a new favorite photograph of me and my dad. It still involved food, of course, but this was taken many years ago. I looked like I must have been about five, and it was someone's birthday, or at least there was a cake, because I seemed to be wearing most of it. Everyone was laughing, and I was pushing a piece of the cake into Uncle Billy's face. On the back of the photo, in Mama's handwriting, it said 'Jilly feeds daddy some cake. 7-14-65'.

 

Author's Note

Is this the end of the story, or should I continue?

Reviews

[imawriter]

Sam and Jilly 8-29-60'.---Jilly feeds daddy some cake. 7-14-65' OHHHH what a mystery!!!! What a great cliffhanger this is! I really like this story, But i'm afraid of heights! Pleeeeeease don't leave me hanging!! Please continue!

[DearWorld]

This is really touching. The language is well-written, letting us glimpse inside Jilly's head and her life. I like it.