Part One: Daughter
I take her hand in mine and lead her to the stillest room in our home. Imprints of my teen years lay scattered across the carpet, covered in dust bunnies and scratch marks all over the flesh of my once favorite things. Ever since I was young, nobody has been allowed into this bedroom of mine except for my daughter.
My room is my favorite place, because sunlight doesn’t blare through the windows, and the wind never rattles. Inside, the air only moves when I do, and that’s how I like it. The space invites my familiar steps while hers drags in. Despite that, she wears the smallest, pinkest smile I’ve ever seen on a girl, and, with the way her grip tightens in mine, I never would have thought that I used to believe that love wasn’t real.
She sits on my bed and waits patiently for me to tend to her, just like Dad should. These little gestures, these familial acts, are one of the many things we both never grew out of, and maybe it's because they're memories of back when I was nineteen and she was four. Our childhoods were intertwined, and now so do our touches, mine rosy and hers the color of peach, soft and warm.
Despite how much she’s grown, her legs sway on my bed, too high for her short frame. Before she could even walk, I never once imagined how she would look when she grew up, but now I can’t get enough of that pout that always sits on her lips.
I look at her face, and she turns away. She's only this cute when she's alone with me, because when she’s around anyone else, I can see an image of myself clearly in her eyes, with the hard and fearful glint of an abandoned dog, ready to bite at any moment as a means to shelter. It's because she came into this world violently, and her mother never forgave her for that.
The morning she was born, I skipped school and rushed to the hospital on my bike. I had barely slept the previous nights, but I was able to survive traffic and yelling pedestrians. When I arrived at the entrance of the hospital room, her mother's father caught a glimpse of me and lied to the nurses outside to keep me away. Unable to be there for my daughter's arrival, I was left to ponder who she would take after as I listened to her mother's pained cries through the door.
I needed to meet you soon, I thought, as I was pulled away to wait somewhere else.
Lights burned into my eyes as I opened them. An hour passed, and I had nearly fallen asleep in a lobby chair. I sat there and waited a little longer until after everyone else left, and I showed the front desk my school ID to prove that I was the father. As I entered the room, I saw a nurse wiping you down as your mother slept.
I walked up to you, and the nurse grinned and turned to reveal your face. The way you smiled lit a hundred candles inside me, and I found my hands reaching toward you, desperate to have you in my arms.
I held you—tiny, fresh, and pink in blood. You looked like a prune, so wrinkled and ugly, but I couldn’t help but beam. Gently, I felt the softness of your hair, then touched your sweet palm, and my breath stopped when you held my finger. Your hands were so small then, and you felt delicate and weak, like you weren’t ready to exist just yet. I looked down as you gazed up at me, knowing that you weren’t ready for the cruelty of this world.
As the nurse turned away to clean, I lifted a finger up to your face, and pushed my finger against the soft cartilage of your nose. You looked dumb, wearing that smile on your face as my finger pressed against you. Both of us giggled, until I brought two fingers together and pinched your nostrils. You were still smiling for only a moment before your face grew pinker and I saw the very first instance of confusion, then panic, setting into your little eyes. Satisfied, I let you go before you could begin to cry.
I laughed and tickled your cheek, bringing back your smile. I knew that the future held cruelty for you, as it did me, but Daddy would always be here. Never would I ever let the world take you away, I decided, as I snuggled you close, knowing that you were mine.
And I’ve kept my promise, for the most part. Your last crumbs, my sweet apple pie, are all mine, and I am so much better now that when you’re around me, I can do anything to make you forget that they had ever abandoned you. It's all thanks to you, because, after all, you were the first to kiss me that night, lighting a burning pit of emotion in me that I thought I lost when I was young.
I felt reborn, and, like a teenager in love, I decided then that you are the only person worthy of knowing my dirty little secret.
Hands cupped, I curl my lips and blow. The dust flutters through the air, particles falling down deep into the catacombs of my carpet. One day, I want to fully raise the dust and show you what’s underneath, but, to be honest, it might scare you a little, so you’ll just have to wait.
I hold up two cassettes—mixtapes I made for your mother that I should have tossed out decades ago, and both of them are scrawled with hearts and smudged ink in the shape of teenage serenades. Timidly, you point at the one covered in pink. I'm sure it's because you know it’s the one more likely to be filled with sickeningly sweet songs, the one with the most twee melodies, perfect for our secret night together in this quiet house, sitting under the smallest starless sky.
Popping it into my player, I press play, lifting a layer of dust from the button. Cute piano scales, cheeky saxes, and saccharine violins gently fill the room, and I make my way towards you, steps swaying. You avert your gaze, embarrassed, but I offer my hand, as there should be nothing embarrassing between father and daughter. You take it, and I pull you onto your feet and into my chest.
We rock to the music, neither of us knowing how to dance. It's slow at first, but the pleased look on your face soon hardens as my movements hasten, and we slip and step on top of each other’s limbs. "Ow," you say, but your mouth flattens when you glance up and see my grin. Our socks give us little protection as we stumble through the room, barely on rhythm, and I let you struggle, my feet pressing down on yours every so often. You try not to show, but your wrinkled brows are no secret me, making my face hotter with each wince you make.
I step on the corner of your foot, this time on purpose, and you yelp—a cry that makes me smile. Pleased, I inhale, and before I can tighten our bodies together, you land a blow against my shin. A small noise escapes me, and you look away, lips curled, feigning innocence.
The heat in me spikes, and my lips dive onto yours, cutting off your breath. Squeezing your cheeks together with my grip, there’s no escape from your dad’s love punishment. I feel the frantic beats of your breath enter my lungs, and I can’t help but steal what’s mine. You claw at my fingers, but I mash your toes again, grinding my heel and reducing your voice into a whimper, causing the groin of my pants to grow tighter. Your feet wiggles free after a moment's struggle, slipping out from your sock, and you stomp back on my foot, no mercy given. Gasping into your mouth, I feel your smile press against me, soft and cheeky.
In return, I throw my arms around your body, squeezing you as you clench your teeth in protest. You’re a bit heavy, but I lift your flailing body, throwing you onto my bed and watch you land on the sheets like dough.
Lights are dim, and crickets sing along to sweet music. My little daughter looks up at me, not fully understanding the width of my love. I lean down to kiss your cheek, then your eye, warm and damp from tears that you show only to me.
It's just like you to cry like this, though it wasn't without some time that you would open up to me. The first time I tried to ask you what was wrong, you would only shake your head. After a struggle between words, I managed to pull it from your mouth, stubbled with sobs.
"A boy and his friends won’t stop making fun of me and pulling on my bra, and, and—"
I didn’t need the details to feel angry, but I also couldn’t help but laugh at the same time. The world is cruel, and so is everyone in it. You either someday grow up, or you become someone like me. Your face sank into your knees as you cried harder, knuckles digging into your sockets, and all I could do was soften my eyes and lean down to hold you to show that I was not there to betray you.
Two children comforting each other. If God were real, he probably would have thought it looked stupid.
Here now in my bedroom, the dim lamp softly veils our faces. I remember your sad, wet eyes that day, and I lower my face to kiss you on the lips, and you cover your face with the back of your palm. I hesitate for a moment, heart beating against my chest, before I lift your hand away. Sometimes I feel shy too, but as your dad I want you to think that I’m the coolest, sexiest person you know. Maybe that makes me boyish, but I can’t help it.
Truthfully, while I didn’t like how other boys looked at you back then, I liked that they made you cry, because then you would come home crying on my shirt. Maybe that’s cruel, but it made me feel important, like I finally won for once, and it’s all because you exist.
I don’t need you to forgive me, though, because it’s too late—you can’t take it back. It's all because it was wasted on me: your virgin kiss that night. It burned deep into me and gave birth to something feverish inside. Now I’m determined to return this boiling malady you gave me, because I think I finally realize that this is what daughters are for. I made you to love me.
So, love me.
More than you already do.
