Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the
mirrored panel, she wondered if he’d be disappointed. She was still not sure she could go through with
this. Taking a deep breath, she willed
her hand toward the button marked “12” and pushed.
The elevator began its slow climb upward. She watched the red numbers light up, each a
passing opportunity to turn back. A bell sounded the arrival of the twelfth
floor. She steeled herself for what was
ahead.
The elevator opened onto the
vacant hallway. Bits of unseen lives whispered
to her from beneath closed doors as she made her way down the worn, stained
carpeting to his room. Pulling the crumpled scrap of paper with his
room number on it from her pocket, she looked at it one more time. From inside, came the low drone of a
television. She knocked…
He looked older than she’d expected, frail, and in
need of a shave. “Yes?” he said.
She stood there frozen for a moment, all traces of
the speech she’d so carefully practiced gone.
“Do you want something?” he asked.
And then she was six years old again, watching him
stand in the middle of the street looking after them, his image getting smaller
and smaller as her mother drove her away to a new life where he would never be
allowed.
Hot tears spilled
down over her cheeks. “Hi, Daddy... ”
