BIRDIE

Papa.

The following weeks my head screwed on questions to make up for the little information I had to go on.  What happened that night? Why did he care enough to keep me safe? Does he like me? What did I do? What did he do? The questions were relentless and my mind was doing a double shift in overdrive. Trying to do extra training and keeping myself busy was proving a failure as my mind looped in the unknown.

It was the week before Christmas and we were fortunate enough to be granted leave for the holidays. It wasn't uncommon but it was unusual to be given such a luxury on short notice. The week seemed to drag a lot longer than usual, training was insatiably intense and everyone was exhausted, so the energy overall was on the decline.

Fast forward to the day before leave, I decide to pay Soap a visit in his room. Approaching the door I hammered my knuckles three times and awaited an answer. Nothing. Knocking a second time, I grow impatient. Nothing. It wasn't like him to not be in his room at this time of night, but it wasn't enough for me to be concerned about. I wonder up the halls, dragging my fingers across the white walls. My feet navigate me to Price's office. I peek through the window and see he's reclined in his chair, feet laced on-top of one another resting on his desk and a Cuban cigar hanging loosely from his mouth. Before I could knock he waves for me to come in. Stepping into his office, the cigar smoke contaminated the room. It smelt familiar, a wave of unresolved, unsettling emotion floods my nervous system. I take a seat in front of his desk. He gives me an understanding smile like he can read my mind. He opens swivels on his chair, using his feet to push off the floor, rolling across the floor to open a window and returning back to the desk.

"Sorry doll." He gestures to the cigar.

"No, that's alright... I just haven't smelt one of those since.. well you know already."

He gives me an understanding nod.

"Do you want to talk about it kid?" He voices.

"I don't know if I could, even if I tried." I shrug, tears pricking at my corneas.

He leans back in his chair taking a long pull on the cigar and blowing it behind himself towards the window.

"Then do you mind if I do?" He offers.

"Not at all." I respond with a half arsed smile.

"He loved you, your dad." He reassures me with a weak smile.

I try to convince myself of that statement with a slow nod, looking at the ground that holds me onto the earth he no longer walks on.

"I'm not sure how much I agree with that. Call me bitter but, him not being here—I don't know." I attempt to justify it in a croak.

"It wasn't because he didn't love you. He had a duty to this country and man did he pay that debt in full." He answers nonchalantly.

I swallow hard with no reply.

I never processed my fathers death but how do you mourn someone you barely knew? The only things I'm able to remember is him dancing with you as a little girl in the kitchen while he was hammering down a cigar. The same cigars Price smokes.

Price looks at me with a sympathetic look and a weak smile. I could feel a lump forming in my throat, swelling around my windpipe restricting the airflow. I take a sharp deep breath and nod. My thoughts are dragging to the surface in a violent assault of verbal diarrhoea.

"I resent him for leaving us behind, I resent him for not being given the chance to know him, I resent him for leaving me without a father, I resent him for choosing his duty to the country over the duty of his family!" I spill, in a fit of desperate release that I'd held back for so long.