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I Didn't Understand Then When I was barely knee-high, I used to collide into my father's leg as he emerged from his bedroom to greet me in the morning. He'd scoop me up, beam into my face, and carry me off into the garden for our morning playtime. His gaze was so full of warmth and life, and I remember his deep, soulful belly-laughs that shook us both. We used sticks to practice fencing, and he'd fall over and feign agony, holding his side with my "sword" tucked under his arm, and declare how I had slayed him. He'd scare me by going absolutely still, until I carefully tread over to him to give him a shake. "Dad? Dad? Wake up!" He'd then grab me with both his massive arms, hugging me close to him, with more of that rattling glee. His face shone bronze with the sun's blessing, and how much mirth reflected in his gaze. But, one morning, when I went to be collected by my father for our morning shenanigans, I was met with a startling sight. Grandfather's old armor had been removed from the display case, and my father seemed so small and scrawny in it. He ruffled my hair as he passed, saying nothing as he collected a sword and bag from my mother. He left the house, and didn't take me with him. Mother said that he was conscripted to go into war, but that he would be back soon. "Soon" is a horrible word. "Soon" wasn't the next day or a week. When my father returned, it was months later. He was a skeletal figure rattling in the armor, and his voice was a mere rasp in comparison to the guffaw I remembered. His face was pallid once the armored mask was removed, eyes devoid of any reflection or light. His smile was just as empty, as weary arms pulled me and my mother in to his chest. He smelled of rust, iron, and staleness, and the breastplate of grandfather's armor was pecked and slashed with more imperfections and stains than I remembered. His body quaked like a wind-ravaged leaf, and those large hands held us both to him for what felt like hours. I was scared he would snap like a dry twig, even despite my small stature. He evetually pulled himself from us, jaw slightly askew in a semblance of a grin, and brushed by with a long, clamoring gait. It was like watching a tired sailor drag an anchor behind them across the sands, with no water to offer reprieve. "He's just tired, dear. He'll see us in the morning," my mother said to me. "Just like old times?" "Sure. He just needs some sleep." The next morning, I poked my head through the screen door to the bedroom, but it was only mother in the bed. Perhaps father had gotten up to make breakfast. But no, he was not there, either. Grandfather's armor was not back in the case, either, and there was no sign of breakfast from the kitchen. Maybe father was out in the garden. I found him, laying in the grass, holding his side as I had always seen him do. His fist was wrapped around a blade piercing his side, and his face twisted in discomfort. I gave him a shove, but his frame yielded. "Dad? Dad? Wake up!" Tsengyu | |