Dimples

The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there. Parents were in love and happy, children thought the world was grand, and no one had to cry.

But today, the present, Dad’s bags left the front door before we even got home. His clothes aren’t in the closet mom and he shared for seventeen years, his coat isn’t hanging on the banister where it’s always been, the air is solemn and still and he’s gone. His shoes won’t be there to stink up the front room anymore, he won’t be there to shrink our clothes when he tries to do laundry anymore, we won’t yell at the TV together when the Socks are losing anymore, we won’t tag-team tickle Marney anymore. No more taco night. No more laughing when our dog farts on taco night. No more jokes during the silences at the dinner table. No more shooting hoops in the summer on the driveway. No more impromptu driving lessons. No more pretending to be asleep when dad checks in on me at night. No more ice cream on hot days when Mom says no. No one to help Marney and me with homework because Mom’s too busy. No one to tell Mar bedtime stories because Mom’s working late. No one to make dinner when Mom’s out with the girls. No one left to be around when Mom doesn’t feel like being around. No one left to be the fun parent. No one left to be the go-between. No one left to be Dad.

I know it might sound kinda stupid to be missing silly little things, but it’s what makes Dad—Dad. He was the one who meant the world to Marnie and me for so many years. Lately there had been stress between Mom and him and it’s not like there hadn’t been before… But this time it lasted longer. Years. Long gone are the times when they would kiss when they though Marney and I weren’t looking or when I would stay up late without them knowing and climb partway down the stairs and see them dancing like they weren’t in the kitchen, but somewhere else. They hadn’t done those things in years. Dad still held Mom’s purse in the mall, but they never held hands; Dad still opened doors and pulled out chairs for Mom, but she never said thank you; he would try his hardest to make her happy, but she had fallen out of love.

I guess this once when he messed up for good, she decided to let him go, rid her hands.

I know that it wasn’t Dad’s proudest moment and there’s everything wrong with what he tried to do. He shouldn’t have gone back to drinking, even just once. But I can understand that he was failing to win back the woman he loves and it hurt him. And now he’s lost her and us. And we’ve lost him.

And I think I hate her.

She’s left us so she can go out with her friends. I have to be the parent and that’s just not fair. It’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to Marney, but someone has to do it.

“Hey, Lijuh?” Marney appears in the archway to the dark living room.

“Yeah?” I turn my head so I can see her over the couch.

“…What’re you watching?”

I glance at the television and shrug. “I dunno. I’m not really watching.”

“Can you talk?” she asks and something about how she says it makes me think that she’s a lot older than me.

I nod. “Yeah. Cop a squat.” I pat the cushion beside me.

Marney walks around the couch and sits down with her legs crossed. “Do you think we’ll see Dad?”

Boy, she doesn’t start with easy questions, does she? “I dunno. I’m sure we will sometime. I just don’t know when.”

“Do you know where he is, Lijuh?”

I shake my head slowly. “No.”

“Does Mom?”

“I guess. She should.” I shrug.

“Does she care?”

“What?”

Marney looks at me with that expression that just makes you wonder how old she really is. No ten-year-old should be able to look like she’s known how the world works for a long time and that’s she’s seen human pain a thousand times over. “Does she care—where he is? What he does? If we see him?”

“Oh… Marney. I don’t know. I think she cares somewhere deep down. But I think right now she’s really, really angry. Y’know?”

“I know… But aren’t you supposed to forgive people? You know, if you love them?”

I smile. “That’s a good question. Maybe you’re supposed to, but not everyone does.”

We’re quiet for a little while and we stare at the television screen. Marney plops her head on my shoulder. “Why is that, Elijah?”

“I’m not sure, Marney.”

“Hm… Can you tell me a story?”

I lean back from her a little. “A story? What kind of story?”

“Just a story.”

“Uh… Okay.” I wrack my brain for something I could tell her. I could settle on a fairy tale or I could make something up or I could just tell her something true. “Do you remember the time when we went on a hayride?”

Marney shakes her head.

“…Well, you were maybe… Six at the time? And you convinced us that we had to go on the hayride after we picked out our pumpkin for Halloween. So, we piled in and headed off. We were the only family there. Anyways, Mom and Dad started arguing about something stupid like Halloween decorations or something and no one was really paying attention to what you were doing. And then Dad suddenly stopped talking and said, ‘Where’s Marney?’ and Mom starting freaking out saying that you fell out of the cart and that you were lost or trampled or something. Mom and Dad were trying to get the driver to stop, but he thought they were being stupid, but they kept on yelling at him.” I pause to laugh at the memory. “So while they were still screaming at this guy, you decided to jump out of the bales of hay you had been hiding behind and you yelled at the top of your lungs, ‘BOO!’. I’ve never seen our parents so scared.”

Marney grins. “I don’t remember that.”

“Yeah? Well, you were young.”

“Yeah… How come we don’t do stuff like that anymore?” she asks.

“Like what?”

“Pick out pumpkins and stuff.”

“We don’t do a lot of things anymore,” I mumble mostly to myself.

“Like what?”

“Well… For one, we don’t have breakfast for dinner anymore.”

“We can still do that, you know,” Marney says.

“Hm… You’re right… And since I’m making dinner… How do you feel about some bacon?”

“And pancakes?!”

“You got it.” I stand up from the couch and Marney straggles after me.

“Can I help?” she asks eagerly.

“Why not?”



“Thank you for dinner, Elijah,” Marney says sleepily.

“You mean breakfast?” I smile.

She giggles a little and I tuck the covers further up to her chin. “Can you read me something?”

“Ah… Yeah. Sure.” I shrug. “What should I read?”

“I dunno,” she mumbles. “Something I like.”

I raise my eyebrows a little and scratch the back of my head as I go over to her bookshelf. I remember I used to read her some Dr. Seuss sometimes and Junie B. Jones as of recently. I stand up, holding Green Eggs and Ham and a book about Junie B’s first lost tooth. And then on top of the shelf, right next to Marney’s little pink TV is a book of Shel Silverstein’s poems.
I set the other books down and pick up the poem book, flipping through the pages until I find Hug-o-War, one of her favorites.



I hear Marney’s soft snores and smile a little as I tousle her hair. “’Night, Mar,” I whisper and shut off the lights.