Heavy Heart

“Daddy!” Daria called after her father as he headed out the door, worn brown suitcase in tow. “Daddy wait!”

Alan Holmes paused in the doorway, turning to see his little girl run up behind him, brown hair in two long pigtails, hazel eyes gleaming, skinny legs poking out from beneath a lilac tutu. A smile came to his lips at the sight and it only grew when she wrapped her arms around his waist, her head only coming up to his chest.

“What’s up, buttercup?” he asked, kneeling down next to her. She giggled shyly into his shoulder, resting her body on his knee. She’d just gotten back from ballet practice, feet still wrapped up in her slippers, toes sore from arabesques and pliés. It was just moments before her father was set to leave for another stretch of time, the last of minutes she would get to spend with him. Every time he left, she sat by the door and waited for his return, crossword puzzle in tow at all times.

“At practice today, Miss Diana talked about real ballet dancers in New York city,” Daria started with a smile.

“Oh, did she now?” Alan prodded smartly, his white teeth gleaming.

Daria nodded eagerly, shuffling her feet against the hardwood floor. “And you can go and see them dance for a whole bunch of people in a really beautiful auditorium,” she continued to explain. “Like the one I do recitals in but better.”

“Yes,” Alan confirmed. “That’s the New York City Ballet. The dancing is beautiful, you would love it.”

Daria’s heart picked up a little at his words, her innocent eyes widening. “You’ve been before? I don’t believe you.”

Alan laughed and tucked a stray strand of hair from Daria’s pigtail back behind her ear. “Well believe me sweetie! I went once with the company. My boss has tickets. They’re pretty hard to come by though.”

“You can get them though, can’t you Dad? If you asked Mr. Cotsapolis nicely?”

Alan shook his head with another smile, like he couldn’t quite believe Daria’s persistence. He knew by then that once she had an idea in her head, she would never give up. He also knew that most little girls longed to see the ballet, hopeful visions of their grown-up selves dancing in their heads. But with Daria it was different. She would study their movements, ask how they stood so perfectly on their toes, question the way the lights worked. It would be an entire ordeal.

“I’ll see what I can do kiddo,” he hummed, lifting her off his knee and setting her back down on her feet. “I can’t promise. But I’ll see what I can do. But for now, there’s a cab waiting to take me to the airport so I gotta go.”

“But Daddy – ”

“Oh sweetheart, but nothing,” he insisted, wrapping her up in his arms and kissing the top of her head. “I’ll see you in a week. I love you to the ends of the Earth.”

“And back?”

“And back,” he promised, setting her back down once more. “Now go help your mother get those cupcakes started. The frosting isn’t going to eat itself.”

He sent her a quick, joking wink, causing her to giggle once more. And with that, she watched him walk down the front path to the white and black taxi at the foot of their driveway. She didn’t take her eyes off him until she couldn’t possibly see him anymore.

Daria was seven. She and her father never went to the New York City Ballet. He could never get tickets for when he was available; his work schedule always got in the way. But after every dance recital, he promised that one day he would get her there. Eventually, she stopped dancing and started doing science projects, which he was more than happy to help her design and execute. But still, she dreamed of the bright lights and glamour of the New York City Ballet, with her father at her side. But that day never came.

Instead, she was sitting in her room at Birmingham, waiting for Harry to take her out all those years later, with that thought on her mind. She seemed to be all dressed up and felt like she had nowhere to go, absently playing with the Japanese puzzle box. Olivia and the girls had gone out to dinner downtown, leaving her alone in her room with her thoughts until Harry arrived. He wouldn’t tell her where he was taking her. It had to be a surprise.

Did he rent out a movie theater so they could see that new Natalie Portman movie (only renting it out because there was absolutely no way Harry could ever sit through a public movie without being bothered constantly)? Were they set to go to a fancy dinner out on the west end? Was it possible that he would take her to the sea? She’d yet to go to the sea.

Setting the puzzle box aside, she jumped down from her bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror by the door and examine her outfit. She hoped she was dressed appropriately for whatever they were doing; it was hard to match to the occasion when you were completely out of the loop. In the end, she’d opted for a simple black dress and black heels, a selection from her very sparse closet. It had been a while since she’d worn her own clothes out on a date with Harry – Litzy took it as her personal styling opportunity to dress Daria up and down like a Barbie doll.

She sighed, leaning up against the door to her closet. Things between her and Harry had greatly improved over the last week. The effort he put forth was astronomical, absolutely unbelievable in Daria’s eyes. It was like he was chasing after her for the very first time again, like his lips had never once touched her and he was longing for a taste. He came to visit and stayed the night and the day afterwards, and on days she didn’t see him he called and talked until they fell asleep. That afternoon she came back to her room to a vase of white peonies and a card promising a date she wouldn’t forget.

Even after a week, her cheeks were pink from the encounter they had in his bedroom in Holmes Chapel. And again that week in her dorm room when Olivia was out at printmaking club. And again the next afternoon before he left for his meeting with Pepsi. Things were finally coming together with the Christmas album, which lead to another string of complications: after they were done, he would be back on tour promoting it. And then another tour after that. Daria worried about it constantly, the stark separation she was about to experience. But then she realized she would be gone too, and in the end it wouldn’t really matter.

Her transfer application was in the mail, but no promises could be made of her acceptance. It was probably too late at that point; the next semester started in January and it was already nearing December. There was no plausible outcome that would result in her ending up at Birmingham the next semester. Even if she already attended as a study abroad, there simply wasn’t enough time.
It seemed funny to her that her life had suddenly become spells of not having enough time and then having too much time. Not enough time with her father. Too much time with her mother. Not enough time at Birmingham. And soon to be too much time back at Wesleyan. She shook her head, trying to rattle the thought form her brain. She needed to live in the moment for as long as she could.

“Harry,” Daria whined to him, though he was absolutely not in her room. She glanced at her watch only to find he was already ten minutes late. Not knowing quite what else to do, she returned to perch on her bed, her hands mindlessly going to the Japanese puzzle box.

It was almost a fidget of sorts – going through the motions to the dead end and then reversing back to the start. It was purely muscle memory at that point, her subconscious leading her in the same direction over and over. It had been ages since she tried a new path. It was like she’d forgotten how to do anything else, her mind almost wanting to end up in failure, like there would never be a solution.

But there had to be a solution. There was something inside, something her father put there. He had to have gotten inside somehow, and at this thought it occurred to her that his hands were the last hands to do the proper pattern. He knew the secrets and she didn’t, and perhaps she never would – one of the things Daria hated the most. She couldn’t stand not having an answer to something. But as much as it drove her crazy, Daria almost didn’t have the heart anymore.

Giving it one last half-hearted look before she called Harry to check on him, she turned the box over in her hands. While she turned it, she went through those all-too-familiar motions, listening to the contents jerk inside like a repeated, taunting jab. The lid peeled back that same quarter inch it always did, the sides askew and jutted in the way she knew they would. Nothing was different.

Unless.

The breath caught in her lungs as she turned the box over, the contents goading her on. She ran her fingers along the edges, looking for a piece to be nudged in whichever direction. All along the sides were miniscule seams promising that the base was meant to be moved. Daria couldn’t believe she didn’t think of it before. The forceful pressure of her fingertips only grew until her pink skin went absolutely white from the blood flowing out, going instead to her heavily pounding heart until…

Click.

It slid.

Daria involuntarily covered her mouth with her hand to prevent all life from escaping right out of her. Her once mindless hands suddenly had a mind of their own, anxiously rearranging the slats so the bottom lid slid father and father out of place.

Of course her father chose the box that the apparent bottom was, in actuality, the top. For years she’d been thrown by the intricate pattern, thinking that was obviously the lid. And the ingenious puzzle makers had thought to include a false puzzle for those who thought the way she did for so long – a puzzle that always ended in a dead end.

Finally, the lid slid off, revealing the contents she’d so desperately longed for. “Oh my god,” she breathed. Everything was finally falling into place.

The scent of her father’s cologne wafted headily from its final resting place in the box, finally released after all the years of being encapsulated. Nausea stewed in Daria’s stomach at the smell, the most distinct combination of woodsy spices she had ever known. That cologne was her father in some ways; the way he smelled before she hugged him goodbye at the bus stop, the way his closet smelled when they cleaned it out for the last time. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to keep herself from losing the contents of her stomach all over the floor. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she finally opened her eyes again; ready to survey the treasure inside.

As she guessed, atop a small pile of items rested a silver coin, decorated with a large chrysanthemum, Daria’s favorite flower. She delicately lifted it from the box and turned it over in her palm to reveal the number on the opposite side: 100. A 100 yen coin. She knew her father too well.

Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, like suddenly Daria was in a dream she couldn’t wake up from. Her trembling fingers reached back into the box, this time pulling something from the corner. A beautiful saltwater pearl. The edges weren’t polished the way traditional pearls were, instead left a little irregular to maintain it’s natural beauty. Daria choked out a sob as she rolled the pearl around between her fingertips, then pressing it to her lips.

She held it there, a steady kiss as she reached back into the box. Resting at the bottom was a folded piece of yellow lined paper, the kind from the notepads her father always used. Smiling wryly to herself, she peeled it from its home, bracing herself before unfolding it.

It was almost too much. She almost wished she could take it back, the knowing. It would be so easy to place it all back where she found it, close the box and forget it ever happened. Maintain this game of keep away she’d been playing with her father ever since he passed. Now it seemed she was reaching the end, and she felt she would do almost anything to keep going. Opening that letter was going to be like saying goodbye all over again.

But with a firm resolve she peeled it open, revealing the sharp, elegant handwriting of her father. Tears sprang to her eyes at the sight, the nausea only growing. The paper was permeated with the scent of his cologne, sending Daria’s head into a spin. It took her what felt like ages to focus on the words, to finally settle her nerves enough to take the plunge.

Daria Eloise,
Japan is famous for their saltwater pearls – they’re called Ayoka pearls and they are some of the most beautiful things in the world. I found this one in a shop in Osaka (a very pretty city like New York) and knew it had to be yours. It was different from all the other pearls, beautiful in it’s own special way – just like you. Daria, you are more special to me than all the pearls in Japan. Always remember: even though I am gone so much, I love you. I am proud of you. And I miss you every minute of every day.
Love, Dad

By the time she had finished reading, Daria was caught entirely by gasping, jagged breaths, fighting through uncontrollable sobs. Everything had completely slowed to a halt, finally encompassing her and her father in whole. It had been so long. It had been so long and he loved her. He was proud of her. He missed her.

Oh god.

She couldn’t breathe. It was like the room was on fire, the air suddenly thick with smoke – impossible for her lungs to process. In an attempt to control herself, she collected the contents of the box to place back in with quaking hands, only to realize she missed one last thing.

At the bottom of the box was a pair of tickets. A pair of tickets to the New York City Ballet. For Friday, September 13, 2001.

Daria gasped for air. Her lungs had completely shut down just when she needed them the most. She felt everything in her stomach rising to her throat, threatening to spill over. It felt like she was wearing a pair of goggles that distorted reality, the room appearing like she was looking through a glass full of water. Daria was growing faint, the world slipping slowly from her grasp.

From across the room, the door opened to reveal Harry and Olivia, their casually chatting figures suddenly jerking into panic.

“Daria!” Harry called out, running forward to her in attempt to catch her. The terror in his eyes was apparent, the sight of the girl so important to him broken down in tears too much for him to bear. But the sight of her slowly fading to black was even worse.

Daria didn’t hear him. She was tumbling off her bed to the hardwood floor, her mind completely blank and unaware. It was the first time she had fainted since that fateful day in September, the day she learned her life would never be the same.