Page 40 - Solstice Art & Literary Magazine 2020

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THE CRUSHING HAND OF ANXIETY • ELIE PATERNO
Pen & Ink
GUARD MY HEART LIKE TSA
LAUREN PETERS
The smell of cold brew and shampoo fills my nose as my father draws me closer, a final goodbye before leaving for Peru. A strange calm waves over me, bleeding into anxiety as I wait for the usual awkward- ness of his hold to rush in. The typical discomfort from his embrace—arms too tight around my waist, a ticklish pain in my neck that makes me jump away—nev- er comes. I force my emotions down and whisper out a pained, “Bye, Dad,” that
I hope won’t give away the waver in my voice. It does.
“I love you, Lauren.” I had never heard him say that phrase with such emotion.
My hands dance around my backpack straps with nervous energy as I shuffle into line, sandwiched between a tall woman with a faux designer handbag and a man behind me who stands far too close for common decency. I glance back to see how far the line moved, unphased by the slow place of the line but instead startled by the sight of my dad standing in the same spot he’d been in before. My brain struggles to understand why he is still there. So used to his disregard for me, I try to think of a rea- son for his actions—maybe my insomnia is
acting up, and my lack of sleep is causing another hallucination. He would never choose to stay for me. This is the man who drives away before I even open the garage, who is too busy with work to pick me up from Union Station, who tears down my excitement just to throw in a comment proving how intelligent he is. This is his revocation of sixteen years of mistakes, and I desperately want to believe he finally cares.
He stands there, unaware that I stare back. My father’s words often fall on me doused in manipulation with specially chosen ac- cusatory verbs urging me to take irrational action, to force the role of the adult in our relationship on me, but his love lay in his current silence. At this moment, he cares for me with no hope to hang it over my head in the future. My dad and I always loved each other, but in a distant way— loving without liking. The exhaustion from strained, weekly conversations over cheap Chinese food falls away and is re- placed with a false nostalgia, dreaming of a childhood where this moment happened over a decade ago. I am a sixteen-year-
old girl, standing in the O’Hare Airport security line, learning what it feels like to have a dad that cares.
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