Wake-Up Call

the call was a shrill keen to wake her from dreams,

but she opened her eyes wider when she saw her dad’s name—

a name she had tried to forget in recent years—

and tapped her phone before it went to voicemail.

the voice on the other end was scratchy,

the tone low in a way she might not have recognized

but right then she knew something had happened,

something that could not be taken back.

“car accident” and “someone died” and “it’s my fault”—

the words were scattered things in her mind

as she listened and tried to make sense of it all,

though a part of her felt relief that he was not hurt.

in the span of moments, she remembered years

where he stumbled home from a night at the bar

and how her mother cried (before everything fell apart)

and how nothing could stop his pendulum moods.

but it’s been years—over ten, she thinks—

and she’s not the type to overlook a sign

when it comes to her blaring without notice—

perhaps a time to heal, a time for amends.

he will never be the father she wanted him to be,

but he could probably say the same of her as his daughter,

and each day forward is a day lost to the ether of the world,

gone away and never again to be retrieved.

by the time she’s off the phone, she is getting dressed,

ready to take the first plane out as soon as possible,

and suddenly years don’t seem like such a long time

when the universe grants you another chance like this.