So Much More(15)

I nod and offer my hand. “I’m Seamus. I live upstairs with my three kids. I’m sure you’ve heard us.” I feel like I need to apologize for our noisiness. “We try to keep it down, but I’m sorry if the TV gets loud or you hear them chasing each other around.”

She reluctantly takes my hand and her grip is slight, only her fingertips return my grasp. “I’m Hope,” is all she says. She’s looking at her damp feet.

“I see your furniture is all outside. I’ll get my box fan and some towels and help you get this cleaned up.” As long as Faith can hang out in my apartment with the kids, I can help Hope.

“I got a fan in the closet,” she says. I realize she’s offering a solution, but the way she says it is strange. Almost as if she’s just making a random statement. It feels disconnected from the conversation for some reason.

“Good.” And then I add, “Set it on the tile in the kitchen where it’s dry and turn it on. I’ll be right back,” because I’m afraid she’ll set it up on the wet carpet, plug it in, and end up electrocuting herself.

She nods.

I slosh through the soaked carpet to the door. When I step outside, I roll my shoulders a few times, close my eyes, and breathe in the humid night air. The tension in my body, created by the emergency-induced adrenaline coursing through me, is receding. And as it ebbs away, I find myself wishing all stress was that easy to release. The stairs taunt me, and the climb is slow because exhaustion is creeping back.

My apartment door is wide open, and Faith is sitting, cross-legged, in the middle of the living room floor, a palm resting face down on each thigh. Her eyes are closed, and I can see her chest rise and fall in a series of deep, deliberate breaths. Her lips are moving slightly as if she’s talking to herself, but she’s not making any sound.

It’s an awkward situation; I’m not sure if I should interrupt her or wait to see if she senses I’m back in the room with her. I clear my throat; it’s my way to deal with the impasse.

Her lips move for a few more seconds and then she opens her eyes and stands. “Well? Is the water turned off?”

I nod, but in my mind, I still see her sitting on the floor. “What were you doing? Meditating? Praying?”

“Both, I guess, though I don’t like to pigeonhole,” she says as she walks by. “I like to multitask.” She winks.

I don’t know if the smile reaches my lips because I’m tired, but on the inside, she makes me smile. “I need to grab my box fan and some towels and go back down to help Hope clean up.”

“Why don’t you give me the fan and towels and I’ll help her? I don’t mind at all. It makes me feel useful,” Faith says.

“But I told Hope I’d be back down to help her,” I argue because I hate letting people down, especially when I’ve promised something.

Faith smiles and I already know she’s not going to let me win. “Your kids have school, and you have to work in the morning, I don’t. Get some rest, Seamus.”

“You’re sure?” I feel bad backing out, but she’s right. I have to get up for work in a few hours.

She nods.

I insist on taking the fan and towels down myself and explaining to Hope the situation and that Faith will be back down to help her. I also tell her to come up and knock if they need anything.

Hope nods in understanding but doesn’t say a word.

Faith and I cross paths at my doorway.

“Thanks for helping Hope out tonight. Sorry I had to wake you. We needed a hero.”

It’s nice to be needed. “You’re welcome. Goodnight, Faith.”

She pulls the door shut behind her, but leaves it open an inch and whispers through, “Nighty night, Seamus.”





Your knees are attractive; it’s a shame to bloody them





present





It’s seven o’clock on a Saturday morning, which is a guarantee of two things.

One: Kira is wide-awake and has been for over an hour now, sitting on the couch watching cartoons.

Two: I’m semi-awake, sitting on the couch next to Kira watching cartoons…through closed eyelids.

I haven’t slept in past six o’clock in the morning for eleven years.

I’m not complaining. My kids are only little once. The boys sleep in now, and I’m sure she’s not far behind them in making the shift.

“Daddy, are we going to the beach today?”

I answer with my eyes still closed, “Is it raining?” The weatherman on the local news last night said it’s supposed to rain today.

She walks to the front door and opens it; I guess an accurate weather assessment requires immersion and not a simple peek out the window.

“What’s this?” Kira asks curiously, looking at the ground outside the front door. Curiosity is not always a good thing when it comes to Kira. She’s fearless. The kind of fearless that requires trust. Her trust is a bottomless pit. Trust that the world is good and nothing bad ever happens. But even when bad does happen, like getting stung by a bee when she was three because it looked soft and fuzzy and irresistible to tiny fingers, or bad like her mom leaves the family and moves out of state, she never loses her trust. She’s still fearless.

I walk to the door for a close-up examination of the this half of what’s this.