The first time she saw him, her biological father refused
to speak with her. She had been waiting at the corner coffee shop, as agreed,
but when he showed up, he didn’t even cross the street and approach her table.
She remained there for half an hour after he walked off, her cappuccino cold
and forgotten.
What kind of father was he to have had no concern for her
all these years? Admittedly, she had rarely given him a second thought until
she packed up her mother’s belongings in the weeks following her death and
discovered the box of her memories. A high school yearbook, report cards from
grade school, a trophy from a running competition. Dried flowers inside a small
book of poetry. Nothing worth saving. She would remember her mother for other
things. And then, at the very bottom of the box, several envelopes, the address
written in fading blue ink.
With shaking hands, she opened the first letter. It
started out with ‘Dearest Marjorie’ and every other sentence contained words of
endearment. ‘Love of my life’. ‘My Marjorie’. ‘Oh, my darling.’ Sweet nothings,
Kitsch phrases for sure, yet they were words expressing passion, a connection
that must have been just as strong for her mother.
His name was Emmanuel, but he signed his letters Manny.
Even though everyone called her mother by her nickname, Marge, he addressed her
as Marjorie, as if he was afraid of letting go of a single letter in her name.
Yet he had let her go. Shortly after her mother gave
birth, Emanuel disappeared from her mother’s life and never had he appeared in
hers. Whenever she asked her mother to tell her about her father, begging
almost, the discussion had been taboo. She learned nothing at all and the
subject was dropped.
Read the full story in In Parentheses Literary Magazine (Volume 9, Issue 2) Winter 2025. Available for purchase on MagCloud.
No comments:
Post a Comment