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There he is! I’ve been looking for him for the last ten years. Dad abandoned us when I was fourteen—said he needed space. Space! Texas already has a lot of that.
Should I just walk in, stand in front of that table of men? Are they friends? Morning coffee buds? Or strangers who happen to be seated with him?
Confront him? No, that wouldn’t be good. I’d probably allow my anger to spray over all the tables and cause a scene.
Dad. Wow! After all these years. I have so many questions. Will he have answers? Does he know about Mom? Would he even care? Would he go to the nursing home and try to make amends? No, she wouldn’t recognize him; she barely knows me now.
He hasn’t changed much. Still wears a black hat—may be the same old greasy hat he wore when he and I would go fishing. Looks like he’s aged a bit; his shoulders are drooping. Dad used to stand tall, sure of himself, but he was kind, thoughtful. I know he loved me—always called me his little cricket. The name stuck, and now very few people know my real name. He never raised his voice to us. But that was then; what’s he like now?
I can’t believe I’m staring through the window at my dad. Elmer Siler, where have you been? And right here in Corpus Christi, where I just happened to come for a little vacation.
I’d needed a few days of respite. I see Mom every day after work. She used to welcome me, grab and hug me like she hadn’t seen me for weeks. But now she lies there in a blank stare. So I came down with my wife and kids for a few days just to get away. Corpus Christi, that’s a long three hundred miles just to get away.
My family’s still in the hotel room. I came down to grab a cup of coffee, and here I am, staring through the window at my long lost father. Wow!
Is he looking at me? Yes, I think he is. Does he recognize me? He should; I’ve changed little in the last ten years. I’ve even had one lady ask what grade I’m in! I’d laughed. A compliment? Oh, for sure! But my wife didn’t think it was funny.
I just now realize my hands are tented in front of my face. I’ve prayed for this since the day he left, but now I don’t know what to do. When anger infiltrates love, it leaves confusion. Would he be just as confused as I am?
Has he been in this area all these years? Why Corpus? He had no relatives here. Why did he leave us? He seemed to love Mom. I never heard them argue. Why did he never write or call? He left the day of the murder of our neighbor, Mr. Dawson.
Oh, God! Did he do it? There was never an arrest. No, old Docile Dad could never…
He’s looking my way again.
I’m goin’ in!
As I walk through the door, my legs turn to Jell-O. My feet feel glued to the tile floor. A thousand thoughts rush through my brain like bullets from the automatic pistol Dad and I used to target practice with. Will I even be able to speak—assuming I can move?
Breathe, Cricket Siler!
I slowly take a breath. Then another. My heart wants this. But my clenched fist—is that anger or fear?
He isn’t smiling. The guy sitting next to him is ignoring him. Oh, Dad, you need a hug. Where have you been all this time? I sure could use your support right now. How I’d love for you to call me your little cricket again, even though your little cricket is now six-foot-two. I feel a tear oozing from the corner of my eye.
I have to do this. I stand straight, my shoulders up and my chest out. I force my right foot off the floor, take a step, walk over to the table. He still doesn’t acknowledge my presence. My heart sinks.
I pull up a chair from another table, turn it backward and place it between him and the guy holding his cell phone. “Mind if I sit here with you guys?” Dad looks at me like I’m Jethro Clampett breaking into the Governor’s Ball.
The guy to my right looked up from his Solitaire game and tipped his hat at me. “Mornin’,” he said, “I’m Jim.”
“Hello,” I said, “I’m Cricket.” Dad never looked our way.
The guy to Dad’s left asked him who he was going to vote for.
“Vote?” Dad said, “What are we voting for?”
The guy patted Dad on the back. “Elmer, it’s the presidential election. You gonna vote Republican, aren’t you? I’m voting for Dr. Carson, how about you, Elmer?”
Dad had a blank look on his face. He looked right at me, expressionless, and then turned back to his friend. “Naw,” he said, “I think I’ll vote for that movie actor. What’s his name?”
“Elmer,” his friend said, “there is no movie actor running for president this time.”
I saw Dad’s lips tighten. Then, in a very loud voice, he said, “Yes there is! Reagan! You know, the cowboy—played in some darn good Westerns. I’ll be voting for him!”
His friend patted him on the back again and smiled. “Okay, Elmer, Reagan would be a good choice.” The guy looked around Dad at me and winked.
My chest caved in. I closed my eyes.
Enjoy the journey!
Eldon
Eldon Reed ©2015
Photo: Carl Soerens