Forgiveness
© 2007 by Lael Tucker
All rights reserved
Sunlight peeked through the faded lace curtains. Joe tried to ignore it, but a stray beam shone insistently on his left eye. If he would quit sleeping on the ratty old couch in Dale's living room the sun wouldn't get a chance to sneak up on him every morning. Grumbling, he slowly sat up, rubbing his stubbly face and trying to remember if there was any coffee left in the house. He grabbed his worn gray robe and shuffled off to the kitchen.
Coffee percolating, bacon sizzling, and bread toasting, Joe sat down at the kitchen table and picked through yesterday's mail. Aside from the Western Electric bill and a copy of some poetry magazine for his son, there was the usual forest of worthless junk mail. After placing the magazine on the four inch tall stack in the middle of the table, everything except the bill was swept into a nearby overflowing wire basket. The spidery shadow of the lace curtains slowly crept across the worn linoleum floor. Why his son Dale had brought those damn ugly curtains from his last place had been a mystery, until one day Joe had mentioned getting new ones. Apparently Jeanie had made them. Poor Jeanie.
Most of the time he found it better not to think about these things too much. Joe nervously played with the electric bill as he glanced at the childish scrawl of a smiling stick family stuck to the fridge with a fuzzy homemade pink bunny magnet. His granddaughter Kay had made the magnet and drawing years ago, long before her mom had died. It was Dale and Jeanie holding hands with Kay and her twin sister Heather, a kid's view of the happiest family in the whole world. Suddenly the toast popped up, reminding him that he hadn't eaten yet. The spidery lace shadows continued their march across the floor.
As Joe munched on his toast he was reminded of some other long forgotten mail, or more specifically, The Package. Kay had sent it to him; she even called him before it arrived, to plead with him to watch the old home movies of his son and grandchildren that were inside. That was nearly six months ago. Right now, The Package sat unopened and ignored in a neat little dusty pile on top of the TV.
...
Joe stood looking in the front hallway mirror as he laboriously tied his tie. He almost called out for his wife Emmie to come help him, but stopped himself. It had been fourteen years since she died, and still every now and then he forgot. "You must be getting senile old man," he said to his reflection as he finished tying the knot.
Joe walked down the book lined hallway to the front door. His old brown leather shoes squeaked on the wooden floor. Just as he was about to open the door, he paused at the last bookshelf and looked up at his son's writing journal on the top shelf, just like he did every time he walked by. Dale always took it with him wherever he went, especially when he went to visit Jeanie's grave. When Joe asked about it once, Dale explained that he wanted to write down everything from his past, so his kids could remember their mom and know what his life was like when he was their age. Thinking back, Joe couldn't remember anything from his childhood he would ever want to write about.
Just like he had so many times before, Joe pulled the journal from the shelf. Except today he would read it. In fact, he could read it out loud to his son. Dale would like that; he deserved something nice on his birthday. The cool leather cover felt good in his rough hands as he tucked the book under his arm and strode out the door.
His son's 1964 corvette gleamed under the carport. Joe admired the silvery blue sheen and graceful swept curves. After the kids left for college Dale had sold the old family minivan and bought it. Like moving out of his old place and into this smaller house, Dale had hoped to rid himself of things that constantly reminded him of Jeanie. Plus it was damned fun to drive. Or she, as Dale affectionately called her. Even though she hadn't left the driveway in over six months, Joe was still always glad to wash her every few days. He hardly even noticed the faded FOR SALE sign in the back window anymore.
The thing is, Joe suspected his son had moved here because he wanted to be closer to Jeanie. As Joe shuffled down the broken sidewalk towards the park, the smell of freshly cut lawns and late blooming honeysuckle wafted on the breeze. He shifted his son's journal to a more comfortable position under his arm and trundled on; only two more blocks to the park. The cicadas buzzed in the trees as the sun slowly crept higher. Joe hobbled faster as he started to bake on the sidewalk. He could hear a duck quacking from the nearby pond.
His favorite shaded bench offered a much needed respite from the hot sun. A cool breeze from the pond tickled Joe's forehead as he watched a father and son playing with a toy sailboat. Dale's journal perched in his lap expectantly.
Joe fidgeted as he absently caressed the book and listened to the young boy chatter excitedly. The small white sails puffed out and the boat turned as it chased the ducks. Kids these days were so spoiled; he couldn't believe the elaborate toys they had. He never had anything but his imagination to play with as a child, and he had always been careful not to spoil Dale. The boy's dad bent over and murmured something and smiled as he wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders.
Shaking his head, Joe heaved himself up from the bench and ambled along the paved path next to the pond. Ahead Joe could see the gate leading to Park Cemetery. This tired old body of his was almost there.
Joe wended through the leaning monuments and worn headstones; their weed drenched decrepitude nothing but fading monuments to piles of dust and long forgotten memories. He always felt that if he tarried too long here, he would turn to stone himself and become one of them; an old gray memorial to an empty life.
Even as laggardly as his progress might be, it didn't take long for Joe to reach his destination; he could have found it walking blind in the dark. Joe patted his son's headstone as he laboriously lowered himself to sit in the grass. It had been over a year now since Dale and Jeanie were reunited.
As Joe opened the book, a slip of paper fluttered to the ground. Joe picked it up and noticed that it was an old repair bill from the little gas station around the corner from the house. Then he noticed the writing on the back. Slowly turning it over, Joe read it. The script was Dale's. His scraggly writing filled the back:
I look back at the times in my life,
when my father wasn't there.
His lack of interest
sowed the seeds of disappointment.
Rarely seen except in anger,
I close my eyes and weep inside.
With joy I see my daughters,
For they are the light
that illuminates the turbulent depths.
So much learned by both they and I,
much more wonder lies ahead.
And yet I glimpse the shadow of my sadness,
thinking of all my childhood missed.
I close my eyes and weep inside.
A childhood of fear and anger,
the harsh lessons learned run deep.
My emotions bound and caged;
now I must learn to set them free.
Perhaps someday, but for now;
I close my eyes and weep inside.
Trembling, Joe opened the book to put the receipt back inside. Even though he had opened it in the middle, he was surprised to see that the pages were blank. He thumbed quickly through the first half of the book, stunned to find that all of the pages were empty.
