Short Story / Family Closure
Two days ago my father died. Even now, as Sarah and I look at caskets, there is little emotion on my face. I cannot seem to shed one tear.
“You just haven’t dealt with it yet,” Sarah says to me, “you guys were close. It has to effect you.” I begin to think about my relationship with my father.
“Hey, Lily can you come in for a minute?” Dad said to me one Saturday night when I was thirteen. I walked into his office.
“What do you think?” He held up a silver necklace with the letter E as a pendant, E for Elizabeth.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I’m going to surprise your mother with it.”
“She’ll love it,” I assured him, “you know I hope I’m lucky enough to find what you and Mom have.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I want someone I can surprise presents with. Someone I can dance with in the living room when I think no one’s watching.”
“You’ve seen that.”
“I love it.”
“You’ll find that someday, sweetie. All you have to do is be patient,” he had said.
“What about this casket? The lining is a nice dark green. It was his favorite color,” Sarah asks. I don’t hear her. Instead, I think back to the day where everything between him and me changed.
My last two bags were packed. I looked around my room, becoming nostalgic, thinking about the memories I had made. Memories that until the accident, were innocent and playful: the one of Sarah and I jumping on the bed during one of our weekend sleepovers that was only limited to the two of us. The boy I kissed for the first time as we pretended to be studying for a Math test, when we were really trying to hide our nervousness. Then the memories became tainted and grim: carrying my mother up the stairs, her weight heavier than my strength. The constant fighting between me and my father because he wouldn’t help me care for the woman who took care of him.
He stood in the doorway, waiting for the right moment to . . .
“You’ll regret leaving.”
“No, I won’t.” I walked down the stairs.
“What about your mother? Do you even care what this will do to her?” He followed.
“I have taken care of her long enough. It’s someone else’s turn.”
“She depends on you.”
“And now she can depend on you. You don’t look at her anymore.”
“Don’t start.”
“She was the one driving.”
“I said don’t start.”
“No. I’m tired of not talking about it. All this family ever does is not talk about it. What happened to her is not your fault. The other driver fell asleep behind the wheel. It was out of your control. But, what you’re doing now is not. She’s your wife, for better or worse. You should be taking care of her, showing her you love her.”
“I do love her.”
“Then be the man she married and not the man that hides in his office until she’s asleep.”
“What goes on between your mother and I is none of your business.”
“It is when it takes over my life.”
“This conversation is over.”
“Fine.” Just then mom rolled out in her wheelchair, her permanent home.
“I’m leaving mom.” I gave her a hug, letting her know I’d miss her. This decision was not about them.
“I’ll call you when I get there,” I said. I turned to look at him. He looked at me with anger in his eyes.
“I have to. I want to go to college, do something with my life and become someone. You let Sarah go?”
“Your sister went off to medical school.”
“Oh, I see. This isn’t just about me leaving; it’s about me going to art school? Is that it?”
“It’s a dead-end. You’ll be back here before the year is out.”
“No, I won’t. I’m a good artist dad. If you had taken the time, you would know that. Instead you walk through this house, a stranger to your own children. I don’t know you anymore.”
“You walk out that door and consider yourself cut off. You’ll get nothing from me.”
“That’s how it’s going to be.”
“It doesn’t have to. Stay.”
“I can’t. If I stay, I’ll be trapped here. I need to spread my wings, make my own mistakes. Can’t you understand that I have to go?”
“Then you get nothing from me. It’s my last offer, stay here or do it on your own.”
“Then I choose to do it on my own.” I walked out and into my car. I sat there for a few moments looking at my mother.
“I love you,” she mouthed.
“I love you,” I mouthed back. She smiled at me and for a second I got a glimpse of the woman she once was. The way her hair would shine in the sun as she walked by on a summer day or how glamorous she looked in one of her black dresses attending yet another physician’s dinner party. For just that brief second she was a mother again, saying goodbye to her now grown-up little girl as she starts her life separate from her family. I drove off, knowing I would always remember the last time I saw my mother smile.
Sarah looks at me, realizing I have not heard a word she says, “are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I look at the casket, “I don’t know. It’s kind of expensive.”
“He was our father, Lil.”
“Whatever you want is okay with me?” I can’t stop thinking about that day. Was there some other way I could have handled it? Something I could have done differently?
“What are you thinking about?” Sarah asks.
“Nothing, just thinking.” I look at her, years of experience above my own facing me back. She looks at me with the same look dad gave when he knew I wasn’t telling him something.
“I was thinking about dad and the blowout.”
“He was wrong in asking you to stay.”
“You know I used to dream that he would walk into my room asking to see my latest artwork. He never did. But I guess that’s why they call it a dream.”
“He should have, you’re rather good.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s okay,” she adds.
“What is?”
“If you don’t feel anything. It’s okay.”
“I do miss him. I’ve always missed him. But I shouldn’t have left things the way they were. Now I won’t get the chance to make it right.”
Sarah smiles. I stand there wondering if I’ll ever cry for the man who was once my confidant and then disowned me one year ago. I wonder if the thought of his death will sweep over me one day and I’ll truly realize that he’s gone.
“Hey Lil, come here. I think I found one.” I walk over to Sarah. The casket is black, white lining with pillow to match. Reminded me of the tux he would wear to his dinner parties.
“And . . .” she points at the price.
That works.
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I’m glad that you didn’t cry at the end. It makes it a little more genuine somehow. The story just felt very real. I didn’t see any significant grammar issues. The only suggestion I have is to add a few more dialouge tags during the conversations. It gets a little difficult to track what said what. Otherwise, it’s a gerat story. It’s real without being sentimental or sappy per se. Excellent work.
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Good, you got to the point of the story real quick! You didn’t draw it out too long. A short piece that speaks volumes.
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November 30, 2006
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I cannot help but think this sounds alot like my family so I can relate. I recently lost my mom and somedays I have problems dealing with it. I thought it was well written.
This is a good story. It tends to straddle the line between original and cliché from time to time, but it is still a good piece of work. There are a few parts I had some trouble with, particularly the ending. I think you could add a lot more to this story. Give us a better picture of these characters, show us more of their lives. I think that there are a lot of interesting places that you could go with this story. Keep writing.
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