The inspiration:
a story:
“Hey, pumpkin.”
I open my eyes, my room pink with sunrise. Dad’s sitting on the edge of my bed. He ruffles my hair.
“It’s my birthday!”
Yes! That’s right! It’s always our day together, just us two. There will be fishing, joking and a picnic lunch. I grin up at him.
“Something different this year, pumpkin. You need to send your mom to me.”
I bolt up in bed; a full moon floods the room silver, matching my hair. Dad passed away five years ago, leaving me and mom.
Mom … MOM!
I’m reaching for my phone when it starts ringing.
*****************************************************
Now, your turn.
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“Dad” “What?”
“Can we go home?” ‘In a minute honey”
“Dad’ “What?”
” Can we go home?” ” *”
“Dad..” “What?’
“I have to pee ”
“Dad” “What?”
“Are we killing fish”
“Dad”
“Can we go home?”
We fished separately. We always did. We’d be on the same beach together and it would be as if Dad was a thousand miles away. I don’t think he ever watched me fish but I always watched him. Sometimes when I caught a large fish he’d walk over with a landing net and, without a word, help get the fish into the cooler. Then he’d slide back to his spot. Grandma told me once that it was just the way he was, that Afghanistan had done something to him. She never said what, and he never said anything.
I was so focused fishing I didn’t see the kid arrive. I nodded to him and he nodded back.
A few minutes later I glanced past him and noticed there were no footprints leading to where he stood.
He saw me looking his way and nodded again.
Neither of us caught any fish. He was still then when I fled — er, left.