Post by Gem on Sept 7, 2014 0:10:33 GMT -5
"Shut the damn light off," an annoyed voice cracked through the darkness.
I suppose I should've counted on the crankiness from Father. I hadn't been around as much as I'd used to be, and I think there was an unspoken resentment over that. The look in his eyes as I returned to spend my usual Friday night on his sofa just didn't have the same welcoming gaze as it always did. Father was always relatively distant, but it seemed as if he'd crossed a line that he hadn't since before I was with him again.
Grant had such insight to what Father was like before I came to him for my training. He wouldn't let on as much as he knew because, like everyone else, he just had to protect me. Little girl I was, Queen of the Underground and on a winning streak, but I still needed protected by the big strong men that wanted to make their decisions for me. Even Grant, who had proven time and time again that he was watching out for me, was hiding things from me that he didn't want me to know, especially about Father.
Finally pulling the switch of Father's desk lamp, the darkness enveloped me, leaving only a faint blue glow from the moonlight. There was a certain tragedy to this state of affairs, seeing someone I loved with all my heart shut himself off from all other possible contact, but there was no talking him out of it. I was surprised he even still communicated with Auntie Dee, but I hadn't even seen her around lately. Maybe he sabotaged his relationships to take away the power of giving others to hurt him?
Within the remaining illumination, a brief flash glared from something on the other side of the room. As I approached, quietly trying not to awake my slumbering recluse of a father, I realized it was a pen. This pen had obviously seen better days, but was still quite beautiful. Handmade, nearly a half-inch thick, and it lay by some of my father's illegible scratches, showing that it was indeed a roller. I hadn't done much writing since my training had begun, but for some reason, I was feeling words tonight. It could've been the inescapable silence of Father's solitude, but it was hard to tell for sure.
The pen glided so gently as my mind began to drift into my own little happy place. Visions of what came before my training floated through my mind, flashing like one of those movies Grant had made me go see. Father's eyes, a breaking heart, and dark empty rooms all paraded their presence through the imaginary screen as I scribbled frantically, hoping the sound of a fast-moving pen wouldn't disturb the cranky one.
"Jotting down some thoughts?" The voice suddenly scared me. I'd been so into what I was writing that I hadn't noticed his ominous shadow standing behind me. "Mind if I take a look?"
"I didn't mean... I'm sorry if I woke you," I apologized. The last thing I'd wanted to do was press his nerves harder. Whatever it was that he kept hidden back there was far too great for me to understand, though I wished he'd let me try.
"Please," Father insisted, and he slid the paper from the desk into his hands. Despite the darkness, he had no trouble reading the words. I hoped he could read quickly, because I wasn't even sure what I'd written on there, and I certainly didn't want to press a trigger of his. I couldn't quite tell how many of those there were and just how they could be pushed, but I wasn't one to try and find out.
"Is this the first time you've written?" He finally asked after what seemed like hours.
"Since I've been here, yes," I replied, surprised.
He dropped the pad into my lap, and knelt down beside me. "It's really good, and I want you to keep writing more. Don't let what's happened to me stop you from expressing yourself."
"Father, I can't let what's happened to you stop me, because I don't know what's happened to you."
The cold silence that often froze us after I broached a topic that brought back painful memories suddenly had us in our spot. His eyes were shifting, his pulse increasing, and he struggled to find the next words. Part of me felt sorrow for conjuring that, but at the same time, he couldn't hide here forever. Something had to bring him out, and if that something was me, so be it.
"You write these words, these passages," he explained. "They come from a place of such hope, such optimism. It's like you're wandering through a meadow, where no doors exist, and no locks can hold you back from what you want. You're young, you're brilliant, you're talented, and most importantly, your heart is intact. I... I cannot say the same." Father trailed off, his voice cracking slightly.
This was quite more than he'd ever said on the topic, but I wanted to keep hearing more. "It's okay, Father. You can tell me these things. Who else can you tell, if not me? You know I'll never leave you."
Father looked up, his eyes shimmering in the brief illumination. "Where your meadow seems to have an endless horizon, I see a dark forest of ominous trees, where the sun doesn't even shine through the canopy of leaves anymore. All around me, the doors click and lock, keeping me from ever escaping the entrapment of the forest. I haven't seen a clearing in years, and I don't know if I ever will again."
"Father, where you see a canopy prison, I see years of beautiful life protecting you from what could find you vulnerable otherwise. Where you hear the doors clicking, I hear them unlocking, just hoping you'll be brave enough to approach again. You can't let what's happened to you hold you back. Grant told me..."
"Grant?" He cut me off, apparently not realizing that I'd been spending most of my time with him. "How do you know Grant?"
"We've been spending a lot of time together. He tells me things about you sometimes, but like you, he keeps most of them a secret."
Father's demeanor changed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Grant's a good guy, one of the few," he muttered through darkening tone. "I don't know what he wants with you, but I hope he hasn't hurt you."
"No, Father," I replied. "You're the one who is hurt, and that's what has hurt the both of us."
"Hurt you? Hurt you? My daughter, whom I love, you haven't seen the half of it yet. You've never promised yourself to another, and then watched someone shatter it before your very eyes, taking all the trust and love you instilled in them over the years, and just choosing to throw it away because you weren't good enough for them. Not just once, but an infinite amount of times, like an vicious cycle of sadism that just seems designed to get your hopes up, only to finally destroy them once you finally trusted that you're not going to be burned again."
"Dad, imagine you have some pride in yourself and don't let those scars define who you are, who we are!" I shouted. "Imagine you approach one of those doors again for yourself, and not for the sake of someone else who might love you back. I love you, Auntie Dee loves you, we're not going anywhere. Get out of that forest, or embrace the fact that you have a place where you can go that no one can harm you, but don't let what's happened in the past define who we are, and who we'll become."
The silence carried through, the frozen moment turning to icicle-laden seconds. He was no longer kneeling; instead, leaning against the frame of the doorway, lost in some sort of haze that might've been similar to the one through my writing process. Finally, I crawled down next to him and put my head on his shoulder.
"Father, I only say these things because I love you. You've always been so wonderful to me, and someday, someone else will see that too. I don't want you to hide anymore, I want you to come out with me. I've had all these matches, and you haven't been to any of them yet."
I didn't need to see his face to know the scowl that crossed it. "I've watched every one of them from here."
"But it's not the same as knowing you're right there with the other family members, watching on live, hearing the excitement, and sharing in the moment of my victory. I beat Joka comma Tha last week, and nobody on the roster expected me to, even though I'm the Queen."
"That'll happen," he murmured.
"I've been catching on quicker than ever before, Father, and I have a Pay-Per-View defense of my title. I've gotta defend myself against Joka Comma Tha, and two other one-named wonders who somehow earned their shot despite being relatively invisible in recent times. Regardless, you taught me to never take a challenge for granted, and the people are starting to love me as their Queen, Father. I want you to be there. I want to throw my arms around you as I overcome the challenges they've put in front of me. I want to see you smile, Father! I want you to be happy for me!"
Father gently stroked my hair as he could tell how much I was hurting for him. "You'll do great, my sweet little girl. I know you will."
"Yes, I will, and I want you to be there to see it," I insisted.
"If you can find a place where I can watch that's not with everyone else, where I can be alone, then I will be there."
I pulled away, nearly in shock that those words had escaped his mouth. "Really, Father? You mean it?" My voice was so high that it nearly pierced his ears.
"Yes, I mean it," he repeated. "You've got a comedian who you've already defeated, another gemstone that wants your crown, and a head of metal-like proportions. The level of competition may be high, and the pressure may be on now that you've turned enough heads, but I know when I'm the first to greet you, it will be as the remaining Queen."
I squeezed him tighter, so giddy that I couldn't see straight. "I can't wait to tell Grant!"
"No, don't tell him. I'll deal with him in my own time," Father refused.
"I don't..."
"In my own time, okay? We've got some unfinished business to deal with. Will he be there?"
"Yes, Father. He hasn't missed a match since we met," I explained.
"I suppose it's inevitable then. I just hope we can avoid it for as long as possible." He stood up by pressing his back against the wall, and pulling me along with him. Placing his hands on my cheeks, he looked deep into my eyes. "I believe in you, and I know you'll do great out there. Just know that regardless of your Queen status out there, you're my princess right here. Never forget that."
"I won't, Father," I whispered, nearly crying my eyes out. "I'll do the best I can for you."
"No, sweetheart," he countered. "Do it for you. I just want to be there to see it happen."
He disappeared back into his room, but for once, I knew he'd be coming back out again. Baby steps, but steps nonetheless. I was going to be the happiest girl in that arena, no matter what happened, because standing along with my good friend Grant, would be the most important man in my life: My father. Joka, Metalhead, and Sapphire, I'm staying on that deal. What do you have?
I suppose I should've counted on the crankiness from Father. I hadn't been around as much as I'd used to be, and I think there was an unspoken resentment over that. The look in his eyes as I returned to spend my usual Friday night on his sofa just didn't have the same welcoming gaze as it always did. Father was always relatively distant, but it seemed as if he'd crossed a line that he hadn't since before I was with him again.
Grant had such insight to what Father was like before I came to him for my training. He wouldn't let on as much as he knew because, like everyone else, he just had to protect me. Little girl I was, Queen of the Underground and on a winning streak, but I still needed protected by the big strong men that wanted to make their decisions for me. Even Grant, who had proven time and time again that he was watching out for me, was hiding things from me that he didn't want me to know, especially about Father.
Finally pulling the switch of Father's desk lamp, the darkness enveloped me, leaving only a faint blue glow from the moonlight. There was a certain tragedy to this state of affairs, seeing someone I loved with all my heart shut himself off from all other possible contact, but there was no talking him out of it. I was surprised he even still communicated with Auntie Dee, but I hadn't even seen her around lately. Maybe he sabotaged his relationships to take away the power of giving others to hurt him?
Within the remaining illumination, a brief flash glared from something on the other side of the room. As I approached, quietly trying not to awake my slumbering recluse of a father, I realized it was a pen. This pen had obviously seen better days, but was still quite beautiful. Handmade, nearly a half-inch thick, and it lay by some of my father's illegible scratches, showing that it was indeed a roller. I hadn't done much writing since my training had begun, but for some reason, I was feeling words tonight. It could've been the inescapable silence of Father's solitude, but it was hard to tell for sure.
The pen glided so gently as my mind began to drift into my own little happy place. Visions of what came before my training floated through my mind, flashing like one of those movies Grant had made me go see. Father's eyes, a breaking heart, and dark empty rooms all paraded their presence through the imaginary screen as I scribbled frantically, hoping the sound of a fast-moving pen wouldn't disturb the cranky one.
"Jotting down some thoughts?" The voice suddenly scared me. I'd been so into what I was writing that I hadn't noticed his ominous shadow standing behind me. "Mind if I take a look?"
"I didn't mean... I'm sorry if I woke you," I apologized. The last thing I'd wanted to do was press his nerves harder. Whatever it was that he kept hidden back there was far too great for me to understand, though I wished he'd let me try.
"Please," Father insisted, and he slid the paper from the desk into his hands. Despite the darkness, he had no trouble reading the words. I hoped he could read quickly, because I wasn't even sure what I'd written on there, and I certainly didn't want to press a trigger of his. I couldn't quite tell how many of those there were and just how they could be pushed, but I wasn't one to try and find out.
"Is this the first time you've written?" He finally asked after what seemed like hours.
"Since I've been here, yes," I replied, surprised.
He dropped the pad into my lap, and knelt down beside me. "It's really good, and I want you to keep writing more. Don't let what's happened to me stop you from expressing yourself."
"Father, I can't let what's happened to you stop me, because I don't know what's happened to you."
The cold silence that often froze us after I broached a topic that brought back painful memories suddenly had us in our spot. His eyes were shifting, his pulse increasing, and he struggled to find the next words. Part of me felt sorrow for conjuring that, but at the same time, he couldn't hide here forever. Something had to bring him out, and if that something was me, so be it.
"You write these words, these passages," he explained. "They come from a place of such hope, such optimism. It's like you're wandering through a meadow, where no doors exist, and no locks can hold you back from what you want. You're young, you're brilliant, you're talented, and most importantly, your heart is intact. I... I cannot say the same." Father trailed off, his voice cracking slightly.
This was quite more than he'd ever said on the topic, but I wanted to keep hearing more. "It's okay, Father. You can tell me these things. Who else can you tell, if not me? You know I'll never leave you."
Father looked up, his eyes shimmering in the brief illumination. "Where your meadow seems to have an endless horizon, I see a dark forest of ominous trees, where the sun doesn't even shine through the canopy of leaves anymore. All around me, the doors click and lock, keeping me from ever escaping the entrapment of the forest. I haven't seen a clearing in years, and I don't know if I ever will again."
"Father, where you see a canopy prison, I see years of beautiful life protecting you from what could find you vulnerable otherwise. Where you hear the doors clicking, I hear them unlocking, just hoping you'll be brave enough to approach again. You can't let what's happened to you hold you back. Grant told me..."
"Grant?" He cut me off, apparently not realizing that I'd been spending most of my time with him. "How do you know Grant?"
"We've been spending a lot of time together. He tells me things about you sometimes, but like you, he keeps most of them a secret."
Father's demeanor changed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Grant's a good guy, one of the few," he muttered through darkening tone. "I don't know what he wants with you, but I hope he hasn't hurt you."
"No, Father," I replied. "You're the one who is hurt, and that's what has hurt the both of us."
"Hurt you? Hurt you? My daughter, whom I love, you haven't seen the half of it yet. You've never promised yourself to another, and then watched someone shatter it before your very eyes, taking all the trust and love you instilled in them over the years, and just choosing to throw it away because you weren't good enough for them. Not just once, but an infinite amount of times, like an vicious cycle of sadism that just seems designed to get your hopes up, only to finally destroy them once you finally trusted that you're not going to be burned again."
"Dad, imagine you have some pride in yourself and don't let those scars define who you are, who we are!" I shouted. "Imagine you approach one of those doors again for yourself, and not for the sake of someone else who might love you back. I love you, Auntie Dee loves you, we're not going anywhere. Get out of that forest, or embrace the fact that you have a place where you can go that no one can harm you, but don't let what's happened in the past define who we are, and who we'll become."
The silence carried through, the frozen moment turning to icicle-laden seconds. He was no longer kneeling; instead, leaning against the frame of the doorway, lost in some sort of haze that might've been similar to the one through my writing process. Finally, I crawled down next to him and put my head on his shoulder.
"Father, I only say these things because I love you. You've always been so wonderful to me, and someday, someone else will see that too. I don't want you to hide anymore, I want you to come out with me. I've had all these matches, and you haven't been to any of them yet."
I didn't need to see his face to know the scowl that crossed it. "I've watched every one of them from here."
"But it's not the same as knowing you're right there with the other family members, watching on live, hearing the excitement, and sharing in the moment of my victory. I beat Joka comma Tha last week, and nobody on the roster expected me to, even though I'm the Queen."
"That'll happen," he murmured.
"I've been catching on quicker than ever before, Father, and I have a Pay-Per-View defense of my title. I've gotta defend myself against Joka Comma Tha, and two other one-named wonders who somehow earned their shot despite being relatively invisible in recent times. Regardless, you taught me to never take a challenge for granted, and the people are starting to love me as their Queen, Father. I want you to be there. I want to throw my arms around you as I overcome the challenges they've put in front of me. I want to see you smile, Father! I want you to be happy for me!"
Father gently stroked my hair as he could tell how much I was hurting for him. "You'll do great, my sweet little girl. I know you will."
"Yes, I will, and I want you to be there to see it," I insisted.
"If you can find a place where I can watch that's not with everyone else, where I can be alone, then I will be there."
I pulled away, nearly in shock that those words had escaped his mouth. "Really, Father? You mean it?" My voice was so high that it nearly pierced his ears.
"Yes, I mean it," he repeated. "You've got a comedian who you've already defeated, another gemstone that wants your crown, and a head of metal-like proportions. The level of competition may be high, and the pressure may be on now that you've turned enough heads, but I know when I'm the first to greet you, it will be as the remaining Queen."
I squeezed him tighter, so giddy that I couldn't see straight. "I can't wait to tell Grant!"
"No, don't tell him. I'll deal with him in my own time," Father refused.
"I don't..."
"In my own time, okay? We've got some unfinished business to deal with. Will he be there?"
"Yes, Father. He hasn't missed a match since we met," I explained.
"I suppose it's inevitable then. I just hope we can avoid it for as long as possible." He stood up by pressing his back against the wall, and pulling me along with him. Placing his hands on my cheeks, he looked deep into my eyes. "I believe in you, and I know you'll do great out there. Just know that regardless of your Queen status out there, you're my princess right here. Never forget that."
"I won't, Father," I whispered, nearly crying my eyes out. "I'll do the best I can for you."
"No, sweetheart," he countered. "Do it for you. I just want to be there to see it happen."
He disappeared back into his room, but for once, I knew he'd be coming back out again. Baby steps, but steps nonetheless. I was going to be the happiest girl in that arena, no matter what happened, because standing along with my good friend Grant, would be the most important man in my life: My father. Joka, Metalhead, and Sapphire, I'm staying on that deal. What do you have?