Father

by Clarissa Wild

  “It was milk. I thought it was okay.”

  “Cheerios …” I shake my head. “Goddammit, Ricardo.” I immediately apologize to God in my head for using his name in vain.

  “Dude.” He picks up the box and shows me the back. “It says right here. Nutritional.”

  “What do you think she’s going to chew those up with? Imaginary teeth?” I open her mouth and show it to him. “Look at that. She needs liquids.”

  “Milk is a liquid.” He shrugs, which makes me roll my eyes again.

  “Buy some baby formula.” I pull her up so I can smell her, and the stench immediately makes me gag. “And some diapers while you’re at it.”

  “What? Now?” he asks.

  “Yeah, now.” I stare him down until he gets the message, picks up his keys, and leaves the apartment.

  Fifteen minutes later, he’s back with a whole truckload of Pampers and three brands of baby formula.

  “I didn’t know which one to get, so I grabbed ‘em all.”

  I chuckle. “Well, at least you know how to bring home the goods.”

  “What now?” he asks, looking at me like it’s my kid.

  I place Sofia on a table and say, “C’mere with some diapers.”

  “Aw, hell naw, I ain’t doing that shit.”

  “Come. Here,” I growl.

  He sighs and stomps but eventually comes closer, and I show him how to pull off her clothes. “Go on,” I say. “I’ll help if you need it.”

  He frowns while glaring at me then rips off her diaper. The stench that greets us makes him yowl and pinch his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

  I chortle. “Better get used to it.”

  While standing as far away as he can, he pulls it away from underneath her, and I hand him some napkins so he can clean her.

  “Put on a clean one,” I say.

  He does what I tell him to although it takes him three tries to get it on right. When it’s done, we quickly dress her again, and he jumps away with the dirty diaper, dumping it in a plastic bag like it’s a toxic hazard he wants to contain.

  “Lord, help me get through this,” he mutters, grabbing some of the baby formula. “How does this work?”

  “Follow the instructions. Put it in the microwave. Test it on your wrist, so it doesn’t burn her tongue.”

  He grabs the bottle the baby’s mommy left him, fills it as instructed, and then puts it in the microwave. When it’s heated, he tests it and brings it to me. I contemplate having him feed her, but I’m convinced he’d only make a mess, so I decide to do it myself.

  I grab her and hold her in my arms while putting the bottle to her lips, and she greedily takes it, gulping down the milk.

  “Good girl …” I whisper. “You were just hungry, that’s all.”

  “So, is she gonna calm down or what?” he asks.

  “If you take care of her, she will,” I say, hinting that it’s his fault.

  When she’s finished, I put down the bottle and pat her back, hoping she’ll burp. She’s still crying, which isn’t a surprise at all, considering how he took care of her. Or rather, not.

  He sits down on the couch again and rubs his face. “What am I supposed to do, Frank?”

  “What are you supposed to do? And you ask me that? You’re the dad.” I try not to look at him as I hold the little girl tight and rub her back, trying to calm her down.

  “Fuck, Frank. You always know … everything. And you’re a fucking priest.”

  “I’m not a fucking priest,” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down. “I’m a preacher.”

  “Preacher, priest, Father, whatever. It’s all the same to me.”

  “Like you’d know. You barely come to church.”

  “I know. The boys won’t let me.”

  “Then try harder,” I retort. “Who gives a shit about them anyway?”

  “I do.”

  “No, you care about the money. You wouldn’t lie awake one single day if one of them died right now.”

  He’s silent, so I guess my rant is working.

  “I know because I felt it. I’ve been in the same position you’re in now, and you know it. They’re not your friends.”

  “But they give me what I need.” He pulls out a tiny bag of cocaine and draws a line on the table in front of the couch. I set the baby down in the makeshift crib. Right before he snorts it up, I swipe my arm across it.

  “Fuck! Dude, why—”

  “You should know better.” I grab his collar and pull him up. “You have a fucking baby.”

  His eyes turn red. “Let go of me.”

  “No, listen to me,” I growl. “See that little girl there?” I point at her. “She’s yours, whether you like it or not. That little soul counts on you to do the right thing. She didn’t ask to be born. You created her by being a selfish little shit. And now you think you can run away from your responsibilities?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t fucking know how to take care of a kid!”

  “Then start learning!” I shove him back on the couch and stare at him. “Stop the drugs. Now.”

  “What? Forever?”

  “Yes!” I ball my fists. “You wanna call yourself a man? Then act like a man. Be a daddy to that little girl.”

  I walk over to her and grab her, cradling her in my arms to show her to him. “See this? Her blood runs in your veins. You caused this. Now you have to deal with the consequences.”

  “But I can’t …” he mutters, his eyes turning red.

  “Look at her,” I yell, forcing him to look at her tiny face. “That’s your daughter.”

  He begins to cry. And now the baby too.

  “Stop crying,” I tell Ricardo. “And man up.”

  “I’m only nineteen. I’m not a man.”

  “No. You’re a kid who did adult things, and now he realizes the world ain’t as easy as he thought it would be. Time to grow up, kid.”

  “Frank … how do you do it?”

  “One step at a time,” I say, and I gently rock the baby back and forth until the screams become less and less.

  “What about the money?”

  “Get a job. A real job.” I look him directly in the eyes, so he knows I’m serious. “Stop drinking. Stop smoking. And clean this place up, it’s a fucking mess,” I say.

  “But I can’t do it all—”

  “Yes, you can!” I growl. “Dammit. That’s what it means when you create life. You do everything and anything to take care of it. Even if it means sacrificing your own goddamn soul.”

  He shakes his head and laughs a little, wiping away a tear. “Look at you. A swearing preacher.”

  “I don’t give a fuck. God doesn’t give a shit if I swear or not. He gives a shit whether I take care of His children. That’s what matters.”

  “Like her …” he mutters, looking at little Sofia.

  “Yeah. And you.”

  “Me?” He raises a brow at me.

  “Yeah. Believe it or not, we’re all important, including you. It’s time you fought for the right things. You deserve better than this. She deserves better than this.”

  It’s quiet for some time. “You’re right …” he says, looking into the distance. “I’ve fucked up.”

  “Everybody fucks up from time to time. It’s about seeing it, and learning from it, and doing it better this time around.”

  “But what about you? Are you doing any better?” he asks, his gaze penetrating mine. It’s like he can see straight through me.

  “This isn’t about me. You know my past. I’m doing the best that I can. Are you?”

  I know he can’t answer that question, and he doesn’t.

  He sits there silently while I tend to his kid.

  This sweet little child, sucking on my thumb. She’s an angel. And holding her like that brings back memories I tried to keep buried for so long.

  I don’t want to remember them.

  And as soon as she’s fallen asleep, I bring her to him and place her in his arms. “Hold u
p her head.”

  He holds her like I tell him to, and for the first time since I came here, I can see a flame burning in his eyes. A smile slowly creeps onto his face. “Okay, I admit, she is kinda cute.”

  I take a deep breath and nod. “Yeah, she is.”

  “What now?” he asks, looking up at me.

  “Now, you get your shit together and raise that baby.”

  6

  When I’m finally back in my home, the church, I collapse on my bed with a roaring headache. Ricardo’s unkempt apartment kept me busy all day, trying to help him out. I couldn’t walk away; not with that little girl stuck with him. She’s the victim in this story. She has no choice, and I wanted to give her the best I could, even if I barely know her. It’s the least anyone can do.

  But the more time I spent with her, the more depressed I became. Every time I looked at her, I could feel my heart shrivel up and die a little more.

  I curl up into a ball and pull the sheets up to my neck, cocooning myself in my own warmth as I try to forget about Sofia.

  At one point while I was there, I even contemplated taking her away from him. But what would that accomplish? Another kid in the foster system. There’s no way they’ll allow a baby to be under the care of a preacher like me either. It makes no sense. It’s a bubble I had to quickly burst for myself.

  I want every kid to have a good life, and only the parents can give them that. As long as Ricardo mans the fuck up and starts acting like a dad for her, it’ll be okay.

  And I’m sure he will … Today was a wake-up call for him. I could see it in his eyes. All he needed was a firm hand and a push. My words did just that for him. He immediately threw away all his coke and started cleaning up, just like I told him. I hope he realizes he can’t go back to where he used to be … for her sake.

  Enough thinking about someone else’s kid.

  I twist and turn in bed until I slowly fall asleep. It’s a tough one, but I close my eyes and force myself to sleep.

  Soft jazz fills the room with life. I blink a couple of times and open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I walk through my house, light bulbs lighting my way like fireflies. Warmth covers me as I watch her dance in the middle of the living room. She smiles at me and holds the baby close to her chest, waving its little hands around as she spots me.

  I smile as I approach her, grabbing her shoulders to dance along with her. I press a kiss to her forehead and imprint this feeling onto my brain, so I can remember it forever.

  Forever. And ever.

  That’s what this is supposed to be.

  Everything fades. The red wallpaper turns lime green. Wooden tables make place for larger ones. Chairs are added, and more plants suddenly appear. The room is light, but my body feels weighed down. The more I try to move, the less my body reacts.

  It’s like I’m frozen in place.

  Frozen … while everyone and everything around me continues to change.

  It’s like time has sped up while I’m still me … forever.

  And in the midst of it all, a boy runs around the house with his toys … but his image is so unclear. The more I try to look, the more he fades away. Until everything in this room has disappeared, and all that’s left is an empty house with moldy wood and spider webs in every corner.

  I shoot up in bed and turn on the light.

  Panting loudly, I feel my face. I’m so damn hot and sweaty … and tears are running down my cheeks.

  I pull off the sheets and sit on the edge of the bed, burying my head in my hands. I rub my face, trying to shake the images from my mind, but nothing I do works.

  It never works.

  So I do the only thing I know.

  I get up, put on my casual clothes, and go out.

  Four hours later, it’s the middle of the night, and I’m drunk again.

  Yep, like that’s so much of a surprise.

  “Pour me another one, Chuck,” I say, sliding my glass to him.

  “I think you’ve had enough.” He slides it right back.

  “Oh, c’mon. I’m a paying customer.” Now it’s my turn to slide it again.

  “I care more about you than your money. Sorry.” He picks it up and tucks it into the soapy water.

  “Fucking hell …” I slam my hand on the bar. “What’s a man gotta do to get some liquor around here?”

  “How about not being a drunk fuck?” Chuck retorts.

  I laugh. “Like you know me any different.”

  “I wish I did,” he says, washing the glasses.

  “I’m not fun to be around when I’m sober; trust me.”

  “I doubt it’s any worse than this.”

  “Keep pushing me, Chuck, and I might start giving you a personal sermon.”

  “Fuck no. I’d rather you drink yourself to death.” He grabs a bottle of whiskey and slams it down in front of me. “Have at it.”

  “Aw … thank you, Chuck. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think you like me.”

  “I don’t. I just want you to shut up.”

  I laugh again and put the bottle to my lips. “There’s the Chuck I know.”

  “Yeah, well, the Frank I know took better care of his church.”

  “Oh please, like you know.” I let out a burp. “You never show up.”

  “You know I hate church.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But you and I both know you don’t,” he says. “You used to love your job.”

  I laugh again because it’s really funny. Or ironic. I don’t know any more at this point. I’m too drunk to care.

  “Yeah … I remember a Frank who actually cared about the church. Gave it all he had. And now he’s a sad slob getting drunk every night.”

  I slam down the bottle. “You’re g-goddamn right.” I fish in my pocket and take out a few bills, slapping them on the counter too. “There you go.”

  “Going already?”

  “I’m d-done listening-g to your w-whining,” I reply with a half-assed tone. God, I’m so drunk, I can’t even talk straight.

  “Want me to call you a cab?” he asks.

  “Nah, I’m good. I’ll w-walk,” I mumble.

  He shrugs and takes the money off the counter, and I turn around. But before I go out the door, he still opens his mouth. “See you tomorrow.”

  Goddamn motherfucker.

  He knows me too well.

  I don’t respond. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. If I think about it, all that comes out of my mind is a bunch of gibberish and mumbo-jumbo that I can’t even understand, let alone him.

  So I walk out and stroll across the street, wandering aimlessly. Rain pours down from above, drenching my clothes, but I don’t give a crap. The chill makes me shiver, but I don’t seek shelter. Instead, I stumble along the sidewalk, almost hugging the wall while I try to find my way home.

  Now that I think about it … I don’t even know where that is.

  Or where I am.

  Or what I’m doing.

  And before I know it, one small pebble makes me tumble and fall face-first into the mud.

  I don’t bother trying to get up. This sad slob has lost his will. It’s dripping down into the gutter along with my soul.

  Guess today really did a number on me.

  I can’t get up. My muscles won’t work, and the longer I lie here, the less they respond. My eyes slowly open and close, and I find myself drifting in and out of consciousness.

  In the distance, I hear a voice.

  It’s calling for me.

  Beckoning me to get up and walk.

  I blink and look up, and in front of me is an angel. Her silhouette illuminated by blinding light. Her voice so pure, I swear I’ve died and gone to heaven.

  “Frank. Frank!” Someone slaps me, and the more it happens, the more I wake up out of my trance. “Frank!”

  It’s the voice. But it wasn’t an angel. Or maybe it was.

  “Laura,” I mutter, my voice hoarse.

  “Oh, God
…” She clutches my body and tries to lift me up, but I’m too heavy for her. “Get up, Frank. C’mon.”

  With the power of her voice alone, I manage to crawl up from the ground. With her support, I can stay upright without falling down. I can’t think. I can’t talk. All I know is that warm hands wrap around my waist and lead the way.

  7

  Matthew 11:28 – “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

  When I wake up again, my head roars with pain.

  I immediately clutch my face and roll around to stop the light from entering my eyes. God, I wish someone hadn’t opened the blinds.

  “Morning …”

  I squint and see that beautiful angel again, her body glistening in the light of the sun with the rays dancing on her skin. I only now realize it’s Laura … and that I’m completely and utterly infatuated with her.

  “Did you sleep well?” she asks.

  I nod, but when I try to answer, my throat dries up, and I cough.

  “Here, have some water.” She hands me a glass, and our fingers briefly touch during the exchange, causing sparks to shoot up my veins like fireworks.

  God … I can’t remember the last time I touched a woman who gave me these feelings. Please forgive me.

  I swallow and gulp down the water in one go, thirsty for more. “Thanks.”

  She takes back the glass and pours me another until I’m sated, and I place the glass on the table beside me.

  I look around and notice the room isn’t what I’m used to. The walls are a salmon color, in the corner is a small wooden chair and a wardrobe, and the blanket I’m lying under feels ruffled. It’s much more somber than my room, which I didn’t think was possible.

  But the point is … it’s not my room. I’m in somebody else’s house.

  “Where am I?” I mutter, squeezing my eyes to make the light less painful.

  “My home. Sorry, I had to bring you here. It was closer, and I couldn’t carry you all the way back to church.”

  “Carry me?” I mutter. “Oh, God.” I rub my face and blow out a breath then sit up straight. “I remember now …”

  “I found you out on the street. You seemed intoxicated.”