It was a perfect day to fly. Amsterdam was foggy and wet all week but once we took off from AMS on Delta 231 to Boston, there was a brief patch of grey clouds and then we were above it all. I spent 2 hours staring out the window in awe of the beauty we take for granted. The sun bounced off the layer of clouds. Up here, I feel free.
Right before take-off, I looked out and saw farms and a service road that ran alongside the runway. A small car was parked and a daughter and her father were both sitting on the side of the road watching planes take off. As we taxied by, he pointed and they both waved. I returned the favor with a nod. They didn’t see me but I was grateful that someone, anyone was taking a moment to wish me a safe flight. I was proud to, in my mind say, “have a great day and many blessings to your family.” We took off and it was smooth sailing.
I haven’t written fiction in years. I feel inspired to write something and maybe you’ll enjoy it.
————————
A taxi dropped me off in the driveway of my house. The yellow cab service in New England isn’t cheap but after two weeks on the road, I would pay any price to get home quickly which is what I did. It is fall and the leaves are changing with crisp air that enters your nostrils and is warmed by your chest. The pumpkin patch next door is ripening and everyone has started wearing jackets and boots.
They run out of the house with smiles of joy and both hug me at leg level. I pick her up for a bear hug and I never want to let go. She’s mine and I’m happy to be home again. We make our way inside. The house is warm and smells like vanilla. Things are neat and in the right place. I smell chicken and vegetables – my favorite dish. The two run upstairs to retrieve school projects and show me what I missed while in Europe. I never understand why they fight to be first at the top of the stairs but they do every time. Looking back, I was the same way. A voice carries from the kitchen, “Kids! Take off your shoes.” It’s her. It’s who I’ve been thinking about all day.
We had a swinging door installed last year to the kitchen. I love cooking and it makes me feel like I’m in a restaurant. The kick-plate on that door is new and something we should have gotten in the beginning. I think the door adds personality but she thinks it closes off the kitchen from the rest of the house. These little debates are a part of our daily life. We’re running a small business and these sort of things are important. I pick my battles and so does she.
After dinner, we all curl up on the couch. There’s a small fire keeping us warm as late-night TV makes us laugh. We are all one at this moment. At this moment, we look like a family. The little ones sip chocolate soy milk while she and I finish a bottle of Cabernet left over from dinner. Our bodies are in sync, our minds are connected. We share a moment and I take a second to analyze the reflection of the fire in her eyes but, panning out it amazes me that she looks exactly like the day we met. Her dimples meet smooth skin and a smile that will knock anyone out. She squints when she smiles and her ears are small. I don’t like her hair short but she does and seeing her go on and on about how easy it is to wash makes me happy. Her happiness makes me happy more than anything else.
I’m standing in their room after carrying them separately upstairs for bed. It’s past their bed time but it’s the weekend and we all had such a great time watching TV reruns and talking about their school work. While carrying the oldest one upstairs, I start to feel her weight more than usual. Every time I do this, she’s gotten bigger. There’s a brief second of sadness when I’m reminded that one day, she’ll be too big to carry. As a father, I carry her. Her problems are mine. I have pride knowing that these two are my responsibility. It drives me.
One day, her emotions, knowledge and sense of adventure will be too much for me to carry. She’ll be too big and will have to carry herself. When she scratches an elbow, I pick her up and start the healing process with a hug. One day, when she’s too big to carry, I’ll still be there to hold her hand – I can’ only hope she squeezes back and is never afraid to cry even on her wedding day, the day I give her away.
He’s headstrong like me. He doesn’t sleep with any dolls or super heroes. His sheets are plain and he already throws a baseball like no one’s business. I’m honest with him about everything. I’d never lie to him even if the truth is hard to share. I’m his best friend and mentor and he loves me for that. To him, I’m a super hero. To him, I’m the one that’s always there to support his decisions and help him achieve his dreams. I can only pray that he’s like me when he grows up. I hope he wants to see the world. I hope he knows what it means to love.
I close their door and face across the hall-way. My bedroom door is closed but light is shining under it. She’s in there waiting for me. Two weeks on the road is far too long for us. We may be 10 years in but that doesn’t mean we don’t keep things healthy. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world. She has given me extra legs to stand on, children to love, a house to live in and the unconditional love that goes along with being married. She never judges me even though I have put on a few pounds.
We make love.
The two of us hold each other and I turn off the lights. We don’t do it in the dark because we’re ashamed or self-conscious. We do it because I know every aspect of her body. I know where to touch, where to go and where to explore. I know what turns her on and she can say the same. Why need lights when you’re moving as one? We cuddle and she says, “will you still make love to me when I’m old?” I respond, “will you hold my hand when I leave this world?” We join lips and drift asleep.
“See what I painted for you?” is repeated over and over. I must be dreaming the same dream but it’s her. Only 7AM but Molly’s pigtails are up and she stares at me while I’m trying to get over jet-lag. She’s just tall enough to stare at me eye to eye as I lay in bed. She’s getting taller every day but this is something she uses to her advantage. Now that my eyes are open, there’s no going back. It’s show and tell time on Sunday morning.
After we discuss how mentos and cola have some scientific explosion when combined, I smell breakfast. It smells like eggs and bacon. It smells like coffee. Still in pajamas, I walk downstairs holding her hand and through the swinging kitchen door.
Our kitchen looks like a restaurant at rush hour. Plates are set and skillets are sizzling with meat and eggs. Molly and Eric hop up on the bar stools as I stand in the doorway. All at once, I hear, “good morning, dad” and it hits me. This is my home. This is my family. This is the thread that wakes me up in the morning and the blood that drives me to be the best I can be at my job.
I’m the luckiest man alive right now. I would rather be here than anywhere else in the world. My family calls me to the dinner table and we drink orange juice and bite down on crispy bacon with the sound of cartoons in the next room.
I’m happy, fulfilled, loved.
———————————–
So, I wrote this in my head while on the plane today. I thought, what if I was going back to New Hampshire with a family waiting for me. My 4 colleagues on the flight with me tonight heading back from a week of work at our headquarters were greeted tonight by their families. I wasn’t. I would come home to an empty cabin. I wondered what it would be like to be a dad just for one evening. I imagined it all in my head while staring out over the pillow top of clouds from the plane. I’m sorry if the story has any weird glitches or holes. I just wanted to share.
Thanks for reading.