A short story..
In Memory of Maurice Aloysius John Lancaster.
March 13, 1942 to February 21, 2000.
“What’s a Q?”
Mar. 14, 2006
We walked to the bus stop. He had a small suitcase in hand, and a brown bowler hat adorned the crown of his head. He had never worn such a thing before, but I figured nothing else that day had gone like a normal day would. We waited. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say or what I should do. All I could do, was stand there, holding his hand, and wait.
We stood in silence. He glanced over at me every now and then and graced me with his beautiful smile. I smiled back, but I gripped his hand more tightly, and soon my smile began to fade. His remained, and somewhere behind those warm eyes, I found a plea for understanding, a request for patience.
But I was so young. How could I understand what it meant to be patient? How could I understand understanding? My stomach began to hurt, an injury greater than the capacity of that which my little tummy could bear. The tiny, light butterflies wriggling about had eternally been awoken from their graves.
“Daddy,” I asked. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” he responded.
“Home? But home’s that way, daddy.” I pointed my short, chubby arm in the direction from which we came.
Daddy smiled yet I felt his hand lose its steadiness. “I’m afraid I must go to a different home now. My new home.”
“Oh, then let me come with you, daddy!” I squealed this loudly and clung to him like a newly-born bear cub to its mother. My arms desperately stretched around the perimeter of his waist. He was too big for me to hold entirely. “Please. Let me come with you.”
It was then that his entire face mushed into a canvas of sorrow. His own lips quivered and his voice began to shake.
“Daddy, don’t go to this new home,” I begged him. “Come back with me. Adia, Casimir, Dominic, Crystal, mommy. We’re all at our home. Please, come back, daddy. Please.” I tugged hard at his hand. I stretched my neck to look into his brown face. I was gazing up at him so fiercely I didn’t even notice my cheeks had become flushed with warm tears. “Daddy!” I cried. I stamped my left foot; I hugged his waist tighter. “Don’t leave me,” I whispered, my face smothered in the navy blue jacket of his favorite suit.
“Teodora.” He said my name, set down his suitcase and knelt down next to me. “My baby.” His big, strong brown hand reached out to touch my pudgy cheek.
That’s when the bus rolled up. Blue and white. I couldn’t see the driver. The door to the bus opened. I gasped and sprung upon my dad, clinging for dear life, hoping my tiny weight could prevent him from getting up.
He started to cry. I did, too. We stayed there for several minutes, him still on the ground kneeling, me standing and wrapped up in his arms. Finally, he held me out at arm’s length and his beautiful smile shone through his tears.
“You’re my Teodora,” he said to me. I nodded hastily. “Will you let me go, Teodora?”
Of course, I shook my head from side to side, saying, “No. NO.”
He looked down at the ground for a second and the way he kept peering closely at it made me think he needed his glasses.
“Here, daddy.” I put out my small hand, reached into his breast pocket and removed that old pair of square glasses, each lens practically bigger than my head. I sucked in my breath as I carefully unfolded the glasses and slowly slid them onto his face. Then, I squeezed his neck with a hug and kissed him on his cheek.
The engine of the bus was running still, but I didn’t care. My arms would not loosen their hold.
“Little Teodora,” he spoke softly. “I love you.”
“I love you too, daddy,” I murmured, my head resting on his shoulder. “Does this mean you will stay?”
Daddy started coughing, and I don’t where it came from, but all of a sudden I heard this loud, high-pitched, beeping noise begin to climb in volume. Inside, I panicked. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I knew I didn’t like it. A siren, or an alarm of some sort had gone off.
Daddy pulled away from me gently and said, “That’s my cue.”
I looked at him, tears immediately returning to my eyes. “But wait!” I cried. “What do you mean? What’s a ‘Q’?”
I was so confused, so scared, so…small. I reached out my short, chubby arms to him again, and of course, he could not refuse them. He hugged me close.
Daddy rose to his feet, lifting me from the ground with him. His arms didn’t seem to want to let go of me either. I don’t know who it was harder for. Til this day, I still don’t know.
“You might forget me,” he said slowly. It seemed the words were hard for him to swallow.
“Daddy, I can’t forget you,” I chimed. “Stay.”
“Teodora, I can’t.”
“Stay with me, I won’t! Stay with me, I WON’T!” I screamed loudly, so loudly that the beeping sound in the background reverted to a dull murmur.
I began kicking and screaming. He tried to put me down but I moved so chaotically that he couldn’t do so without me falling and hurting myself. Somehow, he managed to grab hold of his suitcase. I hopped out of his arms and lunged towards the door of the bus. My daddy grabbed me by my waist, trying to keep me from running up the steps.
I viciously clawed at the metal. “Daddy, let me come with you! Please! I’ll be good. Please.” Tears raced down the sides of my face. “Daddy, I’ll be good! Daddy, I’ll be good!” I wailed, I shook my fists about, I kicked the air.
“Daddy, BARNEY!! We can watch Barney together! Please, Daddy, please! I just want to sing and dance. DADDY! Remember? Oh please, oh please, remember! Just imagine…just imagine…just imagine all the things that weeee could beeee….”
I continued in my tantrum. My dad could have easily grabbed me and set me down screaming, kicks and all, but he wouldn’t leave me so upset.
“Imagine all the places we can gooo and seee!” I continued to wail the song he always sang with me. (Together, just the two of us. It was our special thing.) I sang at the top of my little lungs. “Please, daaaa-dy! Imagination’s fun for you and mee—”
I trailed off. I couldn’t sing anymore. That loud beeping noise came back.
“I remember, Teodora, I remember,” he assured me urgently. “But I can’t stay.”
The beep rang harshly and shrill now. I ceased my tantrum and my dad was able to set me down on my feet.
I hiccuped a little and looked up at him, my face wet and pink from exasperation. My large, round eyes curled over my cheeks with sadness and lacked any understanding of the smallest kind. With my eyes, I asked him: Why?
And he told me, “I am not sure. But God will take care of me. It’s time for me to go.”
“Who is God?” I asked. He did not have time to answer. I heard voices swarming around me, rushing about. I heard my mom gasping and bawling in tears. I heard the beeping.
Daddy let go. He kissed me. He hugged me. Told me how much he loved me—that he will always love me. I told him I loved him, too. And then he went away. The man who had watched me every day of my life, taken naps with me, sung and danced to Barney with me. My favorite man in the world…Who told me to “Get down, Teodora!” when I danced. If anyone could make me giggle, it was him. Through two very sad, puffy eyes, I watched his bus ride away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My little sister Teodora was barely 2 when my dad passed. I remember as he lay in the hospital “recovering” from surgery at 2:00 in the morning, I was with her in my parents’ bed. She was asleep, dreaming away, a tiny baby without a care on her mind.
If she had a voice that day we lost him, I wonder what it was she would say.
© Crystal Lancaster