Forgetting Sylva

Fate

"Dad?" I say softly. I can feel the heat of him at my side, the large, concrete thing of his body, the size of at least four of me. He is tall and strong and still sort of stuck in that awkward, lanky teenage boy-phase, but he is more muscled than any teenage boy will ever be. Dad used to do a lot of wrestling, when he was younger. His wiry build threw people off, but he's always been strong.

"Yes?" he says, his voice calm and soft in his usual dad-way.

I listen to our breaths, and imagine all of my hopes and dreams fluttering from between my lips to hover at the ceiling, their wings beating ineffectually, trapped in this room along with me. Stuck here, in this place, when I am gone.

"How did you know you loved mum?" I ask him. My question is floating in the air, and I am afraid, and it is beginning to fade with his silence. But then he takes a breath, and it is being answered, and the words strengthen in the air and I am no longer afraid.

"I first saw your mother on my twentieth birthday," he says. His voice is soft, and I wonder why he is whispering, but then, I did, too. Perhaps it is something about the dark, and the time, and the quiet, and the fact that whispering is easier to bear inside of the silence, as the night is fragile, like me, and loud voices will shatter it.

"I was out with a few of my friends, at a bar. They were being obnoxious and loud, and I was pretending to be obnoxious and loud, because it was expected of me."

I make a soft, incredulous sound. "You were being obnoxious and loud all on your own, dad. Don't blame society."

I can hear the smile in his voice. "Fine, we were all being obnoxious and loud. We were singing a song, but I don't remember what it was. It doesn't matter. It was loud and annoying, but we were in a bar, and everyone was being loud and annoying. And there was this waitress." He pauses, takes a breath. I smile into the darkness at the thought of my dad, breathless at the thought of mum, because it is lovely and sweet and what they have is what everyone wants. Except me. I am the tragedy in their Greek play. I am the largest part, and I am the saddest part, and I am the untimely end.

"She was this tiny thing, up to my shoulder, and she had these massive heels on, as well." I can imagine his hand, fingers spreading to show the height of the heel, because dad always makes gestures like that. "Absolutely massive. I don't know how she was walking in them. One of my friends put a coin in the jukebox." I snort, and dad laughs softly. "It was a retro bar. They weren't the most common thing in my era, either. Where was I?"

"Friend. Coin. Jukebox," I remind him.

"Ok. So, my friend put a coin in, and chose some music. And it was this old fashioned jazz music. Smooth and a little scratchy; it was a record, I think. And he dared me to ask her to dance. And I remember looking at her, and she was so beautiful, and also a little scary looking. And I watched her elbow someone out of the way, and when another guy tried to grab her wrist she stepped on his foot with her heel and smiled. And I remember thinking she was scary as hell."

"Did you ask her to dance?" I ask him, stifling a yawn.

"No," he says, startling me a little. "She scared me. I didn't want to get stepped on. The hospital, on my twentieth birthday, was not a place I wanted to be."

"So how did you fall in love with her, if you didn't even talk to her?" I ask, indignant. It is strange that I have never heard this story, but then, I've never really asked. And now it seems all the more important for me to hear it.

Dad laughs. "Slow down. We're not there yet."

"So what happened next?"

"Well, I ordered another round of drinks, and we got really, really drunk, and then we walked to my parents' house and collapsed on the ground til morning." It makes me feel strange, to think of my dad getting really, really drunk. And with friends. My father, passing out on the floor and sleeping til morning. I push away the thought and listen closely. "And then, the next afternoon, I went back. It was closed, of course, but they were setting up for the night. And I walked past that bar every day for a year, looking for a glimpse of that girl. Every night she wore an impressively tall pair of heels, and yelled at anyone who did anything indecent. She was so strong and pretty and positively frightening."