Listen to Your Heart

After sixteen years of life, sixteen years of living under the same roof, sixteen long, stressful years of heartbreak and divorce and pain, I have never seen my father cry. When the hospital called, telling him the horrific news of my mother’s passing, he had been upset, of course, but he hadn’t shed a single tear. All of those times when I had come home sobbing over the drama that seemed to follow me wherever I went, my cheeks stained with tears, he would simply wipe them away and tell me to suck it up. Basically, in one word, my father was strong.

The strength that my father carried was something that I could have only dreamed of being passed on to me. I stayed strong when I needed to, not breaking down under peer pressure or emotionally crashing when things went wrong, but other than that, my heart and soul were weak. My vulnerability had the tendency to take over, having a mind of its own as it completely controlled my body, sending me into a downward spiral--a hurricane like force full of heartache and agony.

But on that day, as my mother lay lifeless in the casket before our very eyes, as our friends and family walked by, hugging and crying and putting us in their prayers, my father just broke down.

Krynna looked rather overwhelmed, her face distraught as her eyes glazed over, and she hurriedly packed Rhiannon in her arms, taking her out of the church and away from the mess before things got worse. But I stayed, sitting directly beside my father, my arm around him as his chest heaved, and his face fell into the palms of his calloused hands.

I hadn’t realized how difficult seeing my mother in the flesh again was going to be until it was happening, and I was too concerned about my father’s violent cries to reminisce myself. So I continued to hug my father, whispering comforting things into his ear as he slowly rocked back in forth in the pew, his necktie dangling between his legs.

“It’s okay, Daddy,” I said softly, my voice cracking. My eyes rimmed with the tears that I had known would arrive sooner or later. “It’ll all be okay.” I rubbed my hand along his shoulder, making circular patterns against the fabric of his suit jacket. My lip quivered, and I had to stare at the floor in order to keep myself levelheaded. I need to stay strong, I told myself, For Mom, for Dad, for Rhiannon, for everyone.

I glanced up, unable to stop myself. My eyes were immediately directed toward her face; the smooth, pale skin of her cheeks, the shimmery lavender shadow covering her eyelids, the raven wig that they had used to cover the little hair that she had left on her chemotherapy-stricken scalp… She didn’t look real. She almost looked like a wax figurine, lying within the pale pink satin lining the coffin; a life-size doll surrounded by dozens of white funeral lilies…

“I love you, Scarlett.” I barely heard his words, his voice nothing more than a strangled whisper as he coughed out another cry, and next thing I knew, my father was hugging me, his arms wrapped tight around my body. His face fell into my hair, his tears tangling with my thick black strands. It was the strangest thing, having my father look so vulnerable. Normally it was the exact opposite. He had always been the strong one, the man of the house that stayed composed and kept us calm and together. But this? As I remained steady, my tears rolling gracefully down my cheeks, my father was weeping, blubbering in my lap.

I couldn’t tell exactly how he was feeling. It had to have been terrible. During my parents’ marriage, they had looked to be deeply in love. Before Mom got sick, Dad would walk into the house after work everyday, randomly holding a bouquet of his wife’s favorite flowers. And even if he didn’t carry in a handful of pale pink daffodils, he would always be smiling. They had a love for each other that was pure and passionate. I could see it in their eyes, their smiles, the way they hugged each other before saying goodbye… But my father never got to say goodbye to my mother. Instead, he cheated on her with Krynna, the gorgeous, young, free-spirited blonde bombshell that manned the front desk of his dental firm. Ever-so-slowly, he became distant. The bouquets of daffodils came less frequent. His afternoon smile started to fade. He was already moved out of the house and into an apartment on the east side of town with his new girlfriend, filing the divorce papers, when my mother was diagnosed with the cancer that would soon kill her.

So as we sat beside one another in the front pew of that church, the bells ringing from above us, the crowd gradually closing in on us, I realized exactly why my father was so upset.

After all of those years, after blatantly choosing to move on and start a new life with someone else, after marrying another woman and forgetting all about the wife that he had left behind, my father finally caught up with the reality that he had ran away from years ago. He finally realized that maybe, just maybe, leaving my mother wasn’t the best decision. He finally realized that he had hurt her, and now, he would never get the chance to make it up to her--to even see her--ever again. So amidst the tears, amidst the rising volume of the voices of the crowd, amidst anything and everything going on in the world, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”



The next few days were a blur. Even though the visitation was on Sunday, and the funeral had been the very next day--Monday--my father didn’t make me go to school for the rest of the week. I was completely ecstatic with the idea, and glad that he felt my pain. At least someone did.

So instead of slaving my life away for seven hours at Wenham High School, I spent nearly all of my time at home, tucked away in the safe and secure location of my bedroom upstairs. I kept my door locked, a chair pressed up against it just in case someone decided to be nosey and tried to pick the lock. A pair of ear buds were shoved into my ears, blocking out any other noise other than the sweet melodies of the music I had downloaded onto my iPod.

Dad and Krynna hadn’t said much about my dad’s breakdown at the visitation, the funeral procession the day after, or much about anything, really. They were quieter than normal, walking around the house with that sullen look in their eyes, as if they knew that something was wrong and something should be done to fix it, they just weren’t quite sure what.

To me, though, the silence was exactly what I needed. I didn’t have anything to remind me of what had happened in my life within the past month. I didn’t have to be reminded of my mother, or the way she had held onto my hand in that hospital bed, just minutes before she passed, or the terrible, unforgivable things I had done with Cedar Straehan, or even the real reason why Chloe Nash and Daisy Donahue had showed up to both functions… I didn’t have to be reminded of any of it, and that fact in itself was something that I adored.

It was now Saturday. I wasn’t exactly for sure of the time, but I was almost positive that it was late morning. The birds were singing from outside of my open bedroom window, the light breeze blowing my baby blue curtains and causing the stack of homework papers on my desk to flap. My thoughts were on full blast, my mind completely overwhelmed with a thousand different things all at once. So I did what normally calmed me down and helped me to relax; I shut my eyes, leaning back against the soft pillows on my bed, and let the music take over me.

It wasn’t until there was a light knock at my door that I was brought back to reality.

“Sissy…” Rhiannon’s voice was quiet as she pounded her tiny fist on the wood of my door; the sound barely audible. “Ashy is here!” she said the last part a little louder, happiness sounding in her tone.

I pulled out my ear buds, tossing them onto the bedspread and crossed the small space between my twin-sized bed and the chair blocking the door. I pushed it out of the way, leaning it against the wall, and unlatched the bolt lock on the door.

Rhiannon stood behind it, her bright face tilted up toward my own. She was smiling--as usual--her ice blue eyes wide and full of pure joy. “Ashy is here!” she repeated, throwing her hands up into the air.

I reached out, ruffling her thin brown hair with the palm of my hand. “Thanks, Rhi,” I smiled, bending over to give her a quick kiss on the forehead before rushing toward the living room.

Asher was sitting on the couch when I got to the doorway, a smile taking over his face as he laughed at one of my father’s many lame jokes. He wore a plain gray V-neck and a pair of dark jeans, his sneakers still on his feet. He ran a hand through his short, caramel-colored hair.

My father made wide motions with his hands, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he got deeper and more intense into his story. “--and then, just like that, the guy just disappears out of nowhere!” He threw his hands into the air, as if he were acting out some sort of nuclear explosion. A smile played across his chapped lips.

I stood sheepishly in the wide living room doorway, twirling my fingers into my long hair for only a few seconds longer, until Asher finally noticed me. “Oh, hey!” he got quickly to his feet, pulling his t-shirt down over the brown belt looped through his jeans. “Krynna sent Rhi in after you, so I got to talking to your dad. He has some amazing stories.”

I forced a smile, watching over Asher’s approaching shoulder as my father slumped back down into his chair, reaching for the remote control. Pots and pans clanged together from the kitchen, signaling that Krynna was preparing lunch. “I noticed,” I said sarcastically, nodding my head in my father’s direction. He propped his feet up onto the coffee table, sipping sweet tea out of his sweating cup. It looked just like any other day. Rhiannon had ran into her tiny bedroom across the hall from my own, most likely playing with the brand new dolls that Krynna and Dad had bought her after she asked the heartbreaking question during the funeral procession: “Why is everyone crying, Daddy?”

Immediately following the event, we had sped across town to the first toy store that we found. Rhiannon had happily arrived home with an armful of plastic sacks and Barbie dolls, where she then named each and everyone one of them after the first six letters of the alphabet--which she was so proud to have recently learned.

Asher grinned from ear to ear. It was the same smile that he flashed whenever he was genuinely happy or excited. “Did he tell you the one about the one-armed baseball guy at the Shopko?” he continued. He put an arm behind his back, waving with the other hand. In a deep, fake accent he said, “Hallo, sir. I was just wondering if you would like to join my summer league team.”

I stifled a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one,” I said. My dad told so many stories. I had heard nearly all of them numerous times before, and so had Asher. Yet the repetitive tales of my father’s whirlwind of a life never failed to catch Asher’s wavering attention. It was just nice to see my father in a good mood for a change.

I perched on the arm of the couch, my arms folded across my chest until my father finished the story, and finally, Asher turned back to me. “So,” he said with a mischievous smile.

I raised my eyebrows. “So what?” I asked curiously. It was rather obvious that he had something up his sleeve. Some sort of secret plan that he had been bringing together and convinced to make happen for the past few hours that he had been awake.

He laughed lightly, casting a sideways glance to my father, who looked up at him and gave a crooked smile over the top of the newspaper that he had begun to read. “Are you ready to go?” Asher got to his feet, reaching expectantly for my hand.

“Where are we going?”

But he didn’t answer my question, nor did I think that he would. He only waited until my fingers grasped his own and he pulled me to my feet. “We’ll be back soon, Mr. Foreihan,” he said to my father over his shoulder.

“Be safe, kids!” Krynna yelled from the kitchen, the sound of another pot hitting the tile floor making me jump. And then, with me clutching onto the hand of my best friend, we were gone.