‘You recognize me?’ a voice asks on the telephone.
The conversation dredges up twelve years of hurt, longings and unmet needs. Days of concession lunches and pointy fingers. Springs spent donning the bunny costume, waving at strangers. Winters of mom juggling multiple jobs. Sunday afternoons of unknown men in mom’ s bedroom, the creaking of her bed and the fistful of dollars she put into my piggy bank, eons of age running crisscross across her forehead.
I have been waiting for this day. My body and determination feel strong.
Yes, I will meet you in the evening, closer to the twilight hour. Away from the swarming city–out in the mountains, over the cliff where I often sit to quell myself down. I will let you hold my hand if you want.
And I will yell ‘Goodbye, dad’, while directing my body’s strength to my sinewy hands for the push.