The Contradiction of Solitude(29)

I came home from work and got a shower, changing into pajamas. My stomach knotted up and I felt faintly sick.

The clock’s ticking hammering in my ears, giving me a headache.

I wasn’t doing well.

My control was slipping.

I could feel it.

I ran in circles all day long avoiding, waiting.

Now here I was behind closed doors, enclosed by four walls. Safe. Secure. Trapped.

Nowhere to go.

Nowhere to run.

One day of the year when I allowed it all to come crashing down.

To swallow me whole. To ruin me completely all over again.

I turned on music. Something I never did. Something I hated to do. Something that only served as sadistic, melodic reminders.

But tonight I would.

I found the song I was looking for. Waylon Jennings crooned about a black rose in Virginia.

I sat down on the couch, crossed my legs beneath me.

And remembered.



“Why do you keep leaving?” I wanted to know. He was gone longer and longer each time. I didn’t like it. Mom was sad when he left. She’d complain that he left her to do everything by herself. I hated how she blamed Daddy for everything. But when he came back, she smiled and pretended that we were a happy family.

And we were.

When Daddy was home.

“Sometimes I have to get away.” My father sat down on the edge of my bed. He came home late, just before I had to go to sleep. It was a school night. I shouldn’t be at this hour. Matty had gone to bed a long time ago. But I wanted to talk to Daddy. Sometimes he’d talk to me more than he talked to Mom. It made me feel special that he trusted me.

“Don’t you like being around us?” My lip started to tremble and I felt like crying. My daddy’s love was the most important thing in my world. I didn’t like thinking that he didn’t want to be around me.

Daddy reached out and patted my cheek and smiled. A face I wanted to see but in my memories it was gone. I could only see his eyes.

Coal black. Just like mine.

“Of course. One day, maybe you could come with me. I’d like that. Because you’re like me, Lay.” He tapped a finger over my heart and I smiled. Daddy said I was like him. I couldn’t think of anything better.

“Here, where it counts. You and I are the same.”

I nodded. “Can I tell you my new story?”

Daddy frowned. “You’re not sharing those stories at school, are you?”

I shook my head, my long hair flying around my head in my vehemence. “No, Daddy. I write them in the journal you gave me. Just for me. And for you too.”

I pulled out the small spiral bound notebook and held it out for my dad to take. He did and opened it to the last page where I had written about a little girl who fell down a well and was slowly eaten by snakes.

I especially liked the part where they slurped on her eyeballs. I had included sound effects and everything.

I thought it was my best one yet.

“Is this Stella?” Daddy asked when he was finished. I liked to use the names of the stars in Dad’s stories in mine. He seemed to like that too.

I shook my head. “No, her name is Jessica. Just like the story you told me last time,” I said proudly.

My father’s eyes were happy. They were all encompassing.

“I like this one.” He tucked me into bed, pulling the covers up under my chin. “I have a new story to tell you now.”

I got excited. I loved Daddy’s stories about the stars with names. They were supposed to be sad but I never felt that way.

I didn’t get sad like other kids. I didn’t cry when Bambi’s mother died and I didn’t feel upset like Matty when we saw the dead kitten on our walk to school.

I felt…nothing.

But I did feel happiness. Excitement even. When dad told me his stories and when I wrote mine.

“Tell me, please!” I begged, starting to feel sleepy.

My father smoothed my hair back from my forehead. “I discovered a new star. Her name was Elizabeth. She got into a fight with her mother and ran away from home. She was sad. Like all the stars. She just needed someone to love her.”

“Just like Stella. And Emma. And Rosie.”

Daddy nodded. “Just like Stella. Emma. And Rosie.” I could hear how saying their names made him happy. He liked saying them. Especially to me.

“Elizabeth was smart but didn’t think she was. She was the girl no one noticed until it was too late.”

My breath caught in my throat. My daddy wasn’t looking at me. He was looking…somewhere else. I wasn’t sure he was there with me at all.

“You notice her eyes first. Blue and wet with tears. She cries when she thinks no one is looking. She cries for a life she will never get to have. She’s lost. Like so many others.” His voice is hushed. Barely above a whisper.

“What happened to Elizabeth?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“She’ll be a star forever now,” my daddy said smiling, so brilliant it was like looking at the sun.

Happy.

And I drifted off to sleep dreaming of sad, sad girls with blue eyes. Of families that didn’t love enough and my father that loved just right.

Of stars that were always and constant.

And blood…



I stared into the flickering flame of the candle that sat on the coffee table. I missed my father’s stories. I missed hearing about the sad stars. Stories tinged with the cruel truth.