Left to Lead

Outside of Time

I was 5 years old when my daddy gave me my locket. It was silver and sparkled with fragments of pink gemstones embedded on the cover. My clumsy little fingers never could pry it open, but he didn’t want me to open it anyway.

“In a few years, we’ll open it for you,” he would say. “When you are ready, you will discover all of the special qualities you have inside of your heart.” I would wrinkle my nose in confusion or amusement, or irritation depending on my mood and my age. He would laugh and tap me on my nose.

“It will be all you need,” he would inform me quite unhelpfully.

I remember the day he gave it to me because it was my birthday, and it was indeed special. It’s funny how memories of early childhood can be virtually nonexistent as you grow older. As you grow more into yourself and take on the cares and responsibilities of life, often all that is left is the highlight reel. My 5th birthday made it to the reel. That day and another – that was both confusing and traumatic - that took place about 12 years later.

2121

“I’m home!” I announced loudly as I rushed into the back door and into the kitchen. I toss my purse on the counter and move toward the refrigerator without breaking stride. It had been a long, exciting day of handling last minute details in preparation for my high school graduation, and I was famished. While I debated the pros and cons of cooking verses ordering a pizza, I grabbed the carton of orange juice and stood there propping the refrigerator door open – thoughtfully gulping away. There’s no need for judgement here – the carton was almost empty. I was almost certain I’d drink all of it.

Pizza. Having decided on the best course of action, I went in search of my father to dish out the funds. Usually, he’s in his home office at this time of day, doing heaven knows what to prepare himself to write another riveting book. You may have read a little sarcasm in the word “riveting” … and you would be semi-correct. At this time, I’m only 17. My father has obtained moderate notoriety for his books that, near as I can tell, require an uncouth amount of research and that I am sure (based on my fledgling attempts at it in my Senior writing class) should put most reasonable readers to the nod – if not knock them out cold. I often teased him about this, to which he would respond with good natured wit of his own.

“You may not enjoy reading them now, but you certainly seem to like the money they bring in,” he would smirk while pinching my round cheek.

“That’s right Daddy,” I’d say with as much dignity as I could, “Keep making the bread so I can eat it.”

I didn’t have to tell him how inordinately proud I was of him. During a time when technology had advanced so much that purchasing books in print was considered archaic and even though I was firmly entrenched in the trends and modern practices of my generation, I found a charm and appreciation in the vintage. A row of my bookshelves was dedicated to the growing repertoire authored by my father, and I insisted that he autograph each and every copy. I looked on every accomplishment of my father with satisfaction and planned to “grow into” a period of my life where I would eventually read each book, from cover to cover. I loved him that much.

“Daddy!” I called as I turned into the hallway leading to his office.

“Hm!” I heard him grunt loudly in reply. I smile as I prepare to see him sitting at his desk that was perpetually covered with books, stapled packets of printed articles, and several open journals where he has jotted down notes or written drafts. In my mind’s eye, his glasses are perched on the very tip of his nose in a manner that makes me doubt both their usefulness and his need for them – until he’s attempting to drive at night, that is.

I reached the doorway, and it was just as I knew it would be – just as I’d seen him before, day after day, year after year, for as long as I can remember. He looked up at me and smiled. Then with a comically haughty sniff, turned back to his work as he greeted me.

“Brat,” he acknowledged me.

“Tyrant,” I replied with a raised brow. I stroll to his side casually and then, grinning, bend and kiss his cheek. “I’m hungry,” I state, “and I have decided that you shall fund the expenditure of pizza, breadsticks, and wings.”

“Hm,” he scratched his softening stomach through his shirt, “carbs, carbs, and more carbs.”

“Indeed.”

“Use the petty cash, dear.”

“I would, but you have failed to replenish that fund, my dear provider.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. Might I suggest that it was quite… petty of you?” I tilted my head and lifted my eyebrow at him. He doesn’t even bother looking at me, but his sigh is so deep and long that I giggled. A few keystrokes later and my phone chimes as the money he has transferred hits my account.

“You’re the best, Daddy-kins,” I said as I bounced to the door.

At the door, I turned back. But here is where my memory becomes selective in the moment, and spotty in retrospect. I forgot what I was going to ask him. In fact, I’m not even sure if I was really going to ask him anything at all. When I think back to that moment now, all these years later, I think I was more compelled than anything to get that last glance at him- at his face. And in that moment, he has looked up at me as well. He is watching me walk out of his office and in his face, there is a mixture of emotions.

Love. Pride. Amusement… worry.

Regret?

It was then. Then when I opened my mouth to speak- when it happened. A pop so loud and resonate that I dropped to my knees and hugged the wall. I’m not sure if everything went black immediately or if it was the result of my eyes being clenched shut and my attempt to bury myself away and hide from whatever was happening. I’m not sure if I was actually screaming for my father or just imagining it with all my might. When I frantically opened my eyes, nothing changed visually. It was just as black with darkness as it is on a starless night and the silent void was now replaced with an overwhelming rushing roar in my ears… in my head – in my being. I was frozen in shock for an interminable amount of time until eventually I became conscious of the cold tears running down my face.

In the far-off distance, it seemed that I heard an alert going off on my phone as the roaring seemed to subside and my eyes seemed to slowly adjust to the dark… or was it getting lighter outside? It didn’t make any sense. It was late afternoon when I arrived home. Enough time hadn’t passed for it to be a new day, had it? And anyway, the sun doesn’t set in an instant anywhere for any reason.

As my vision gradually returned, I slowly stood and looked around for my father. When I swallowed, my throat felt raw, so I figured that I must have been screaming for him all along but couldn’t hear myself- and he probably couldn’t hear me either. I didn’t see him anywhere. If at all possible, my heart pumped even harder and faster as I jerked towards his desk, bracing myself for what I would find behind it- or under it.

I rounded the desk and found… nothing.

“Daddy?” I rasped.

I stood there, dazed. Confused. Looking around the room. Turning around in circles. Doing foolish things like running my hands along the shelves of the bookcase behind the desk. Walking to the closed window. Crawling on the floor and looking under the couch. Opening and closing the closet door that was filled to the brim and would never allow a person of any size to fit inside.

“Daddy!”

I ran outside of the office. By now, the house looked almost normal. As if it’s any normal Thursday late afternoon. The sky outside is overcast and although none of the lights are on (is the power out?) I can now see clearly. It’s like coming into the house when everyone is out and about, running errands – having meetings, in school. I run from room to room- to his bedroom looking for him, but he isn’t there. The house looks the same; it’s physically the same, but it’s different. It’s empty.

I slowly walked back to my father’s office and stand there in the middle of it, helplessly. After several deep breaths I walk behind the desk and pick up the chair from where I threw it to the side in my panic. I sink into it and drop my head into my hands, thrusting my fingers into my hair and digging at my scalp.

Eventually, my eyes focus on the journal in front of me. This is what my father was working on when I came into his office just (moments?) ago. My breath catches and my attention sharpens as I see my name at the top of the page. It is a letter… to me?

Lucinda,

My jewel. From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew you were special. You are an impeccable blend of your mother and me. Your beauty and intelligence are a priceless inheritance of your mother’s, and – for better or worse – I am forced to take a large part of the responsibility for your wit and irreverence. The kindness your mother has given you has allowed you to take that humor and see the world optimistically; while I know only a modicum of my DNA enables you to face the world courageously and to do what needs to be done at all costs. I wish I had more time to prepare you for what’s to come; I have only recently realized that it will be sooner than later that I too will be compelled to leave you behind. You will have to make the most of the information I have managed to pull together and publish over the years. My readers have thought of me as a theorist, but soon I suspect you will find your collection of my humble research to be more valuable than ever. You may have to “grow into them” much sooner than you thought, Brat. Guard them with care and share what you learn when necessary. The rest of what you need to know, is inside of your heart. It will be all you need.

I love you past the end of time.

The Tyrant

Aka

Daddy

P.S. Remember

The letter ended here. I turned the page in frustration, but the pages were blank. There was nothing more. When I turned backwards in the nearly full journal, I saw only what seemed to be the end of his latest drafted work. I rested my head on my hand and realized that my face was covered with tears. I hadn’t even noticed I had started crying again. As I became conscious of this, I also became aware of the notification chiming on my phone again. I dug into my pocket and opened it to several text messages; two of which caught my attention. The notification for the deposit from my father for… my mouth dropped as I stared at the amount. And the other an automated text from the emergency broadcasting system. That was when I finally heard the screams from outside.