Page 44 - TheBridge_Vol16
P. 44
SUNDAYS
Morgan Scott
It was a Sunday when he came, and a Sunday hand on my shoulder and turned to leave.
when he left. It was raining, and my mother He never told me he loved me. Instead, he
sipped her coffee at the kitchen table, a got into his blue truck and drove away, and
cigarette balanced carelessly between her that was all.
first and second fingers.
I never really knew why he came, or why
“There’s a man at the door, Mama,” I’d said he left in the first place. I didn’t desire an
quietly, knowing better than to be loud explanation, either. The way I grew up, it
around her in the mornings. was better not to ask questions if you didn’t
really want an honest answer.
She didn’t look at me or at the door. Instead,
she flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette –
and said, “It’s your father.”
It was a Sunday when my Auntie Gia came
He brought me a pink stuffed elephant and to get me. It had been a long time since I’d
a white envelope that my mother quickly seen her. I sat on the edge of my bed as I
snatched away, the contents of which I never watched her take clothes off my floor and
knew for sure, but looking back I could only shove them into a yellow duffel bag. She
assume possessed a monetary value. moved fast and swore under her breath.
After a few minutes, she zipped the bag and
He was taller than the picture made him grabbed my hand, pulling me off the bed.
seem. He had brown hair and blue eyes. He Before we left, she stopped at the doorway
wore muddy work boots and jeans with paint and looked around the room one last time.
all over them. I watched her eyes scan to the bed. She
dropped my hand and walked back over,
I only ever saw my father three times, all grabbing something out of the tangle of
in that same week. Once when he came, mismatched sheets.
once a few days later when he took me to a
Friendly’s on Route 12, and once more when “You want this, Charlie?” she asked,
he left the following Sunday. handing the pink stuffed elephant to me. I
looked at its soft, plush face and hugged it
He didn’t say a lot to me, but he was the only under my arm as we left the house on Oak
person I can think of that ever called me by Street for the last time.
my full name.
We drove for what seemed like a very
“Charlotte,” he said, crouching down to my long time. When we finally pulled into
level, “I’m sorry.” He placed a large, strong the driveway of a small yellow bungalow
32 | The Bridge Vol. XVI | 33
