Memory Share: Richard Strand

[nobasisinfact]

The room is soft in pastels of yellow and blue. The pictures on the wall seem more child-oriented than anything else. Your sister decorated it – she'd overruled your choice of a pleasant dark green and a more adult-like decoration. 'growing girls don't want their rooms to look like a stuffy scholar lives there' she'd said. You still don't agree, but at least you were able to get your way about the books. She needs something more substantial than 'Goodnight Moon.'

The weight pressing against your leg, wiggling a little is light, but it's still amazing how much heavier she was then even a few weeks ago. She's growing so much, and the thought of it is almost frightening. What are you going to do when she starts school; or when she starts to look at boys? Cheryl can't stay with you forever, and this is all new territory for you. You can barely handle an adult girl let alone a tiny one that you'd managed to create.

“Dad?” The tiny voice is calm but questioning — a girl's voice. When you turn to her, there's a little girl there, sitting on your lap with a questioning look in her deep blue eyes. She looks like you, it's strange, but there isn't very much of the woman who had her there. Just you; or maybe you only see what you want to.

“You wanted 'The Deranged Cousins' right?” You can't help smiling about that. Cheryl hated that you get her Edward Gorey, but she loved it. She also liked it when you read Greek myths and ancient books to her – Cheryl had banned those while she was visiting though. There was also an increase of traditional children's books showing up in her room. You'd have to sell them once she left.

Opening the book, you begin to read. There are pictures, and the young girl looks at them with rapt enjoyment as she listens to you carefully and rhythmically reading the words. “Seventy-nine years ago there were three cousins whose names were Rose Marshmary, Mary Rosemarsh, and Marsh Maryrose. They lived in a house covered with roses on the edge of a marsh ...”

As you continue, the girl reads with you, as if she knows the book by heart. She does. This is a book you've read to her several times. It's her favorite. There's a soft clink as a mug of tea is set beside you, and both you and the girl look over to see a woman settling herself into another chair, sipping from her mug. “You're gonna make her weird, Richard.” It's said with rolled eyes as the girl crinkles her face at the comment.

It's an old argument. Be a normal dad, read her normal things and make sure she has a normal life. Charlie isn't normal. She's extraordinary, she's your daughter, and you plan on making sure she knows just how smart she is, just how extraordinary she is. “If anyone thinks that then they aren't worth her time. Right, Charlie.” Your voice is both soft and strong with conviction.

The girl nods then she taps the book. “I wanna get to her killing her cousin.” It's a demand that you can't say no to, so you keep reading even as Cheryl sits back with a small smirk on her face. Only you would read something like this to an almost three-year-old girl, and only your daughter would enjoy it.

Comments

[nobasisinfact]

As I said, it's complicated.

[gristle]

Is she as stubborn as you? She seems it.

[nobasisinfact]

She is. She's a very strong woman.

[He's very proud of Charlie and the fact that she kept to her convictions; even if those convictions kept her from him for so many years.]

[gristle]

So she holds a grudge?

[She imagines Richard holding a grudge.]

That doesn't make you a bad dad. Or make her childhood bad.

[nobasisinfact]

I don't think it can be considered a success if your child never wanted to see you again.

[gristle]

Did you see her again?

[nobasisinfact]

Eventually.

[gristle]

Does she hate you now?

[nobasisinfact]

No.

[gristle]

Then you're not as bad of a dad as you think. Otherwise she still would.

[Duh, Richard.]

[nobasisinfact]

There were more years for her to forgive me than you've been alive.

[Dating yourself a little there, Richard.]

[gristle]

So? She still did. You're the one who's holding onto it.

[nobasisinfact]

I'm simply explaining the facts.

[gristle]

No, Richard. You're not explaining facts. You're explaining emotion.

[Look who's been paying attention in class.]

They're different. You're explaining guilt.

[nobasisinfact]

Fault, actually.

[gristle]

Guilt. There's a difference. You feel like you're at fault because you couldn't give her something. That's different. I bet if you could have given it to her, then you would have. So it's beyond your control and so beyond your fault.

[nobasisinfact]

Or perhaps I didn't look hard enough.

[gristle]

Like you wouldn't have looked hard enough if it was this important. You're just being obtuse.

[Look, a new word she learned from him. Now she can use it on him, properly and in an actual sentence and everything.]

[nobasisinfact]

It's important not to jump to conclusions.

[gristle]

Why not? You are, despite evidence to the contrary.

Which is why this is an emotional argument rather than a logical one.

[So there, Richard.]

[nobasisinfact]

Factually, Charlie wanted no contact with me for over twenty years. That doesn't make me a good father.

[gristle]

Factually, you reconnected. So that doesn't make you a bad one either.

[nobasisinfact]

It was someone else' doing.

[gristle]

Who's?

[nobasisinfact]

I think you can guess.