Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Alone - Emily D. Regis

Taylor Smedley


Alone
Emily D. Regis

“You know what else children don’t know?” he asked, staring at me with an intensity that was unsettling. I shrugged and averted his gaze.
“They don’t know how to hurt. I mean, they know how to cause pain, but not how to hurt. There’s a difference.” He thumbed the whiskers on his chin, nodding softly as if I had uttered that statement and he was reflecting on my profound insight. I followed his lead and nodded, not knowing what else to do.
When I had seen his name on the Caller ID at 3 this morning, I had assumed he was drunk and needed a ride home from whatever bar he frequented nowadays. I answered, feigning surprise at hearing his voice after all these years. I knew he had been sober for the past year and a half, but it was no surprise to me that I would still be the one he called to pick him up after a long night of drinking. Or so I thought.
“You want to come over for a while?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Rachel just called. She had some huge news for me. I need someone to talk to. Please, Kate, you’re the only one I can talk to right now.” Hearing his voice so weak and broken and in need of care, I couldn’t refuse. After pulling on some sweats, yanking my hair into a ponytail, and throwing on some flip flops, I drove the ten minutes to his house. I still knew the way by heart.
I walked up the three flights of stairs to his apartment, knowing that the elevator would actually be slower. I grabbed the spare key from its hiding place by the fire extinguisher and walked in. The apartment was dark, but I walked straight to the den, where I knew he’d be, without colliding with any furniture. He was sitting in the large purple arm chair, like always, but instead of his laptop on the table in front of him, there was a novel instead. The Count of Monte Cristo. I was impressed.
Timidly, I knocked on the wall to announce my presence and he looked up and nodded at me. Gesturing for me to sit on the couch in front of him, he placed a bookmark in his novel and clapped it shut.
“Kate. It’s been too long.” From the way he spoke, you would never have thought we parted on less than good terms. Finally, dropping his mask, his eyes reached out to me in the way that only he could. “Katie-cat, I don’t know what to do. Rachel dropped by yesterday. She, well, she had some news to tell me. Kate, Rachel’s pregnant. I’m the father.”
For a second, I was sure I had heard him wrong. There was no way. But as I saw the honesty in his eyes, my hands began to tremble. I now knew why he had called me. I was his last resort. If he didn’t turn to me, we both knew he would turn to the scotch instead. Searching for my voice, I could think of no words. I stared at him helplessly.
“I don’t know what to do. What do I tell Rachel? That I don’t want to be a part of the kid’s life? That he’d be better off?” I knew he was only thinking aloud. That these questions were rhetorical. Thoughts began to race through my head. Images of him, drunk and angry. Loud. Harsh. Scary.
I wanted to calm him, to shake off his fears, but we both knew he would be a terrible father to this child. We both knew that Rachel would’ve been better off never telling him of their offspring.
“Kate,” he said, looking at me like he’d never seen me before, “Maybe there’s something I’m supposed to learn from the kid. Maybe, you know, I’ve been given a second chance.” This idea seemed to cheer him up and he began to list qualities he could learn from a child that would better his life.
“You know what else children don’t know?” he asked, staring at me with an intensity that was unsettling. I shrugged and averted his gaze.
“They don’t know how to hurt. I mean, they know how to cause pain, but not how to hurt. There’s a difference.” He thumbed the whiskers on his chin, nodding softly as if I had uttered that statement and he was reflecting on my profound insight. I followed his lead and nodded, not knowing what else to do.
“Katie-cat,” he said, reaching out to touch my on the arm. I instinctively recoiled, but he didn’t seem surprised, if a bit saddened. “I wish I could say I never meant to hurt you. But we both know that’s a lie. I did. I meant to hurt you. And I’m so sorry.” This time, ignoring my efforts to avoid his touch, he grabbed my wrist and turned it soft side up. Gently stroking the three small scars, I could see tears gather in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry. I wish I could take it back. I wish I never hurt you. I wish I never made you hurt yourself.” Tears began to trail down his cheek and he didn’t both to wipe them off. “Katie-cat. Katie-cat.” He whispered over and over.
But I had heard it all before. I heard the I’m sorrys and I was sick of them. I stood up and turned around, and walked away. When I got to the door, I looked back to see his eyes, full of tears and understanding and no anger.
As I walked out, I whispered softly, “Goodbye Daddy.”

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