7:39pm April 23, 2013

Let Truth be Told #5

As a little girl, I was well interested about the world. I felt like I needed to know it from end to end in all directions. I knew from my father’s great stories that although I came from a beautiful place, the were other beautiful, breath-taking places scattered all over the world. After every lovely story he told me whist I listened eagerly on his lap finished, he promised me he would turn my Lego aeroplane into a real aeroplane, and we would fly to these places he spoke so passionately about. My mother always sat back and watched us, listening in every now and then. Sometimes, her lips would curl at the ends and she would shake her head just a little bit, before she got up and busied herself with other things.

One day, my father returned from a days hard work with my brother, who was older than me by ten years. They brought back home fantastic news. My father was going to take my brother “abroad” to a place with a funny name I know now as Birmingham. My brother was going to enhance on his education there (something my family values greatly).

It was the worst news. It was so bad, I remember this bit of my heart falling off and collapsing onto something else rather important in there and chipping bits off that, too. I was so upset, I had to turn away and close my eyes shut really tightly as to send back the tears.

My father was supposed to be taking ME, but I was too young and so he chose my brother instead.

My brother was never even there for most of the stories!

I remember not greeting my father with a run-up to a big bear-hug and a kiss to the forehead for four days. I remember thinking that with this, I had the power to change his ridiculous decision. I also remember missing how he caught me in mid-air with his strong arms and how I knocked out his breath when I collided into his chest. I missed his complaining about how big I was getting and that soon I’d knock him over to the floor…

I am pretty sure he noticed this drastic change in our relationship, the childish, rebellious silent cry in me. It may have even put a small, sad smile on his face seeing how passionate I was about not being picked. So on day five of this demonstration, as I was busily breaking apart the Lego aeroplane on the floor, he ran up to me in what I thought was full speed the time, and playfully placed himself on my crossed legs, then his arms flew round me and he gave me the biggest bear-hug ever, so big it swallowed me whole.

After a few seconds he let go of my completely stunned body and sat next me in absolute silence. We sat there, father and daughter of age six, in the non-spoken comfort of potential reconciliation. He was first to break the silence.

“What are you making, my child?” he asked softly. The words melted the ice from my heart, but I was determined not to forgive him that easily, so I picked up where I left with the aeroplane and continued dismembering it with extra, unnecessary force.

“I am not making, I am breaking.” I mumbled angrily.

“But was that not our aeroplane? I was going to turn it into a real one and we were going to go see the world.” Gosh, he knew the wrong buttons all too well.

“No, Father, you won’t. You have secretly made a new aeroplane, and in three days, you are leaving with my brother.” a tear fell onto a Lego piece before I could catch it. I felt a choking sensation and more tears, so I continued to tear apart my aeroplane faster, and the pieces were flying everywhere. My father watched and pondered in silence, face expressionless. When I was done taking apart every Lego piece, he took in a deep breath and told me to make a bigger, better aeroplane.

“I leave in three days, but when I come back, I will turn it onto a big, beautiful aeroplane, and we will go see the world. Anywhere and everywhere you want to go, I will take you.”

Well, of course, deep down inside, I was grinning with glee and all I wanted to do was jump into his arms and return that huge bear-hug he gave me earlier, but I didn’t want to seem too believing, so with the most formal voice I could muster within me I said I will think about it.

“I will build my own aeroplane, but when you return you may find that I have already gone without you.” My father stared at me with an expression I cannot explain until this day, so just know it was long and very sincere, and it pierced me to my insides and I shudder when I think of it now, the same way I did when it was first laid upon me. He finally nodded and got up, and left.

It has now been almost fourteen years. I have not seen him in eight, but every now and then, when my mother has switched off her phone so he can’t reach her, he calls to ask for her. He tells me that someday, he will come back, and I should pray for him.

I don’t think he remembers, but I have a Lego piece from the biggest and the best aeroplane I had ever made at the age of nearly seven, whilst I kept waiting for him to came back. Like the Lego piece and like that unfulfilled promise to a gullible child, I think that little girl with dreams too big for her little aeroplane has disappeared, but maybe there is still a piece of her somewhere, waiting.