2.V :

Fervent claps resounded against the auditorium’s high vaulted ceilings. I lifted myself from a bow and scanned the audience: families, students, community members—and a lone man standing in the auditorium doorway. Of course. The concert had ended. 

I stowed my violin in the case before sprinting down the hall, past the entourage of guests, strangers to me. And I ignored the man who held open the school’s front door as I hurried down the steps, all the way to the parking lot. There he lingered, just out of arm’s reach—my rock, my shield, my knight in shining armor, the man who was supposed to protect me from hardship.  

“Father. . . please, turn around.”  

He knew I stood there, even before I spoke. We had done this over and over—he would come to my concerts, and, afterward, I would chase after him like some cheap, love-stricken whore. I didn’t care. I’d been starved of love. 

I stepped toward him, clutching the cuff of his suit before tugging on it. “Please, say something.” 

“Let go—I need to tell you something.” 

So I let go, and he turned around. I never forgot that tuft of awry hair—the same shade as mine—but, over seven years, it had begun to thin and gray. Would I see him the day his hair became only wisps of white?—I would be an adult, long gone from the clutches of my mother.

He smiled, although strained. “Let’s go to my car.” 

I sat in the front passenger seat. Droves of people walked out of the school and to their cars. I watched—children chatted with their family, laughing, smiling, faces beaming like the sun. If only they knew how blessed they were. . . I tore my gaze away and clenched my white dress. 

“You did great on your solo. Did your mother come to the concert?” 

I snorted. We both knew the answer—she did not. 

“What did you want to tell me? Are you finally going to fight for joint physical custody?” 

“No. . . that’s what I wanted to tell you. I have a new job and will be moving out of state with my family. This may be the last time you see me. It’s for the best.”

“What are you saying?” I uttered. Tears pooled at the corner of my eyes—one more push and the waterworks would begin. 

“I’m saying I am ending this—this farce! In a few more years, you will be an adult. You won’t need me, but my wife and newborns—they need me. It’s time I start anew.”

My fat tears fell. The shock had racked my body and rendered me motionless. 

My father reached towards me—as if to wipe my tears—but his hands remained suspended in the air. “Don’t cry. You still have your mother, and she loves you very much.”

“Then why wouldn’t she come to my concerts!”

He didn’t need to tell me his answer—an opinion swayed by memories. She was at the bar, drowning herself in drinks, acting like a cougar. When it came to my mother, he always wore rose-tinted glasses. Perhaps, seven years ago, she was a capable woman who loved her children, but sorrow had chiseled away at her till she was a hollow shell. Now, she was a mere alcoholic, using my father’s child support to supply her addiction. 

“I’m sure she’s busy at work. She’s a single mother with three children.”

I shook my head as I hiccuped. “Yeah. . . you’re right. Her workplace must’ve called her in.” 

My father tapped on the wheel while I wiped my snot and tears. “Gabby, you know I—”

“Unlock the car. I have to get home.” 

“I can drive—” 

“I can walk home.” 

Without a word, he pressed the unlock button. Click!—I thrust open the car door before slamming it shut. I marched away, never to see my father again. 

Like the changing seasons, concert after concert had gone by, and my hope deterred with each one. Four years later, a tiny part of me, buried beneath all the boiling animosity, hoped to see the akin array of brown hair at my graduation—even if age had whitened it, even if a foreign family stood beside him! It was supposed to be in 8 days. . . 

The dream unraveled when I opened my eyes. The pillow beneath my head was wet. 

“Father? Why were you crying?” Tristan asked.