Stuck
Stuck
Jenna woke softly from her dreams of grace and decadence, her velvetine lips relaxing into a comfortable smile. Until she opened her grey eyes and remembered that the extravagance was all part of her mind, little more than a conjured hope.
Deflated joy tightened her mouth into a slight, disappointed grimace as she lifted her lean body from the small bed in her meager room. She gave a droll stare about, memorizing, yet again, the words that her mother had taught her.
“Never stop dreaming, and if they try and leave you, chase them to the ends of the earth, because in this world, dreams are all we have.” the last advice her mother gave her before she left, had become the mantra that she told herself every day.
With a soft sigh she stood.
Her room was barely big enough to house her bed, let alone anything else. The walls, once a pale blue, were now stained with yellow near the top because of years of water damage from the cracked, sagging ceiling above her. Decoration was sparse. As was her need to stay in this place. Her wardrobe consisted of worn clothing passed on from neighbors or family that were better off than her, and her father ever would be, if fate had anything to do with it.
With a brief stretch of her frame, she padded over to her squat, off-white dresser. Jenna selected a faded gray shirt that hung off of her and ripped, stained blue jeans that she had received from her cousin. She could already feel the weight of her existence pressing down on her slender shoulders for the day.
Summoning up a well fabricated smile, she left her room to greet her father.
He sat at their rickety pine dining table, silently enduring the chunky oatmeal that was their breakfast each morning. She added a bounce to her step to compensate for the extra droop to her father’s posture, and gave him a warm kiss on his scruffy cheek in greeting.
He sat up and smiled; he wasn’t as good at hiding his mood.
“Mornin’ darlin’” Donnald Harring slurred out to his daughter gruffly.
“Morning Daddy,” she took her seat across from him, “How did you sleep?”
“Slept alright, you?”
She blew a short, dismissive snort through her dainty nose and spooned the crummy oatmeal into a bowl for herself. “It was fine. I didn’t get to bed till late.”
“You been practicin’ at night again?” She could hear the mute annoyance in his kind voice.
“Yes…”
Donnald set his spoon down and matched his gaze with hers, “You can’t be doin’ that Jenna. Do you know what kind of people creep ‘round here in the dark?”
“I was in the bah-”
“No, Jenna, I’ve told you before. Stay inside when it’s dark out”
Jenna’s gaze fell sullenly to inspect the ragged grains of the table. A silence washed over the morning and clung to the two of them as they made the short walk to Donnald’s business; a small hardware store that sat on the corner of a once busy street. Now, like everything else that time gets its eroding hands on, the shop had faded into the background, going virtually unnoticed by onlookers. The only income her father got anymore came from generous long-time customers that took pity on his worn establishment.
Jenna padded almost boredly to the back of the store; her father used half of what he made every month to buy more supplies, and today was unloading day.
Ever since Donnald threw out his back years earlier by doing this same laborious task, Jenna had been reluctantly put in charge of stock, unpacking and shelving the cheap items. This job kept her lean and strong, which added to the reason her father worried about her so much.
Watching as he stood behind the counter, Donnald saw traces of his wife in his beautiful daughter. She was growing to become a wonderful woman and he feared for her. He feared that the fire that she carried now would be snuffed out by this dingy life. He knew that she would be crushed when she found out that her wild and ambitious dreams were just that: figments of a hope that couldn’t go further than their miniscule back yard. He dreaded seeing that happen to her.
Nothing extraordinary happened during work hours. An occasional familiar face would pop in, buy a few things, and leave with a self-righteous pride to their features, like they had just donated to a charity. Donnald went on tending the front, sporting a pleasant facade, while Jenna finished with the stock and meticulously organized the shelves.
On their way home after hours, Jenna was more lively, the dimming glow of the onsetting evening animating her. She strode boldly, just ahead of her father and scanned their surroundings like they were new to her bright eyes.
To Donnald, this city was wholly the same, night and day.
Jenna would argue that as the sun sets, the dreary, gray Manhattan transformed beautifully into a radiant array of towering lights, the navy sky providing an endless canvas for the city to show its magnificence.
Upon arriving home, the two parted and headed to their respective rooms. Donnald tiredly sunk down to his empty queen-sized bed and gazed dully at the vacant indention beside him.
“Oh, Viv,” he addressed the still air. “She’s so much like you”
In the expected silence that followed, Donnald reflected back to his Vivian’s smile, her modest but knowing laugh. How had he not seen it? Why did he not notice her lethargy when he even mentioned the store, her apparent withdrawal from them? Jenna had. He remembered his young daughter- six at the time- running to him with tears in her eyes, crying about how her mommy didn’t love them any more. He recalled scolding her for saying such things, and telling little Jenna that her mother would always love her.
Three weeks later he had found a letter, explaining that Vivian was not his any more. That she couldn’t take it any longer and had boarded the next train to Chicago.
There was no conversation. No closure.
When he come to Jenna, the words locking up his mouth, he could tell that she knew already. She simply pulled her father to her and hugged him, he cradled her as if she was still a small infant. In the time following, Jenna was the stronger of the two.
Donnald closed his eyes with a resigned sigh and let himself dream of his elusive Vivian.
Jenna went to her room, and instead of lying down to sleep like her father, she quietly changed her clothing. Slipping out of her T-shirt and jeans and into black tights with a close fitting tank top, she stepped over to her window, which looked out at their meager backyard.
Halfway out, Jenna froze and whipped her head around, making sure her bedroom door remained peacefully shut. All was still.
Slowly, she eased her limber body out of the window, making not even the slightest of noises. Jenna shivered slightly as the cool night air prickled her skin with its welcome. There was only the faint sound of the city to accompany her as she started to stretch her muscles.
After Jenna was through preparing, she started to dance.
Long graceful movements had her in harmony with everything around her. Her body flowed with the music that only her ears could decipher. She twisted and twirled with self-taught expertise.
This was her dream.
To dance.
Only now, while Jenna could embrace the music that echoes all around, was she truly herself, truly happy. Her eyes were closed as she filled the small yard with her fluid talent.
She didn’t hear the hushed drone of the pale yellow taxi cab as it slowed down across the empty street. She didn’t notice the engine as it sat idle and a figure watched silently from behind the tinted glass, and she didn’t look up as the car resumed its journey, leaving her alone in the cool moonlight.
It wasn’t until after the all of the streetlights went out that Jenna found herself weary and she silently crept back through her window, yawning pleasantly.
***
The next day rolled along without much change. That is, until Jenna and her father returned home, weary from yet another day of exhausting work.
They had just settled down for dinner when there came a knock on the door. Jenna promptly moved to answer it.
A tall man stood on the other side of their threshold. His eyes were a striking, metallic blue, and they peered down at Jenna from under thick but well maintained eyebrows that were flecked with black and silver. His clean shaven face was just slightly lined around those eyes. He smiled warmly down at her, something in that look brought her to believe that she had met this man before. But she would have remembered that.
When he spoke, his voice was like mercury; it flowed from his mouth and reverberated around her with such defined subtleties.
“Young miss, is your father home?”
It took Jenna a moment to register his words. “Ah… Yes, I’ll… um, go get him.”
She half-jogged to retrieve her father, feeling foolish. Something about this stranger struck up a curiosity within her. When her father hoisted himself out of his chair to see to the gentleman, Jenna tried to resist the strong urge to eavesdrop. She ended up doing so anyways.
Donnald answered the door with his usual grunt of a half-interested greeting.
“Yes, hello, are you Donnald Harring?” The man spoke before he could, bringing a crease to Donnald’s brow.
“That’ll be me. Now who’s askin’?” In his mind, Jenna’s father had already made the decision that this man was going to try and sell him something useless.
“My name is Alec Wayland”, he dug around the pocket of his pristine, tailored coat and produced a small blue business card.
Donnald took it from Wayland’s clean hand and inspected it without thought, until his tired eyes traced the words Juilliard, with three words typed out in gray beside it, dance drama and music. His expression shifted from mildly annoyed, to curious, then it faded to doubtful.
“I am here on behalf of The Juilliard School. If you do not know, we specialize in the fine arts, particularly dance. From what I understand a colleague of mine witnessed your daughter dancing yesterday evening.”
Donnald’s eyebrows furrowed at this, but then realization smoothed his features. “What are ya sayin?”
“The time period for Juilliard to accept new enrollments has passed, but my associate has convinced the board to allow your daughter to audition for a scholarship for next semester.”
Silence rang through the small house. On the other side of the wall, Jenna fought against her fluttering thoughts to keep from either fainting outright, or running out to Wayland and throwing her arms around the man’s neck in gratitude. In her mind she had already made it. She knew that she could make it. Her heart raced at the possibilities. Juilliard was one of the best schools in the state, and the thought of them thinking her worthy to attend. She could already taste the campus air...
“No. Absolutely not.” The pained finality in her father's voice shattered any of her excitement.
“Ex-excuse me?” Wayland’s surprised tone echoed her own.
“You heard me, I said no. My Jenna’s only seventeen and-”
‘We accept students as young as sixteen”
“I don’t care Mr. Wayland, I’ll not have my daughter shipped off to some rich school where she’s just going to get shot down.”
The words knifed through Jenna as of he had just swung a blade. Her mouth hung open. She stifled a devastated sob and ran noisily to her room.
The resounding slam of her door made Donnald jump and he clenched his eyes shut before slowly shutting the door to Wayland’s face, giving him enough time to step back.
Once in the frigid solitude of her room, Jenna flung herself down on her small bed. As she buried her face in her pillow, the force of her sobs wracked her frame, sending shudders through her. The brokenhearted noise was audible from the other side of the door.
Donnald let his calloused fingers touch the knob of his daughter’s door, but instead of opening it, he listened silently as Jenna cried herself to exausted sleep. Tears of his own dripped down and clinged to his slightly overgrown stubble.
***
In the morning, Donnald woke to hurried shuffling from the other room. At first he thought of burglars, then he blinked and realized that, one, there was nothing in his house to steal, and two, the noise was coming from Jenna’s room.
Jenna hurried through her things, shoving all of it haphazardly into a ratty suitcase. Hot tears ran down her cheek, grim determination panted on her red and blotchy face.
In her mind the music played loudly, urging her on. The words her mother told her long ago sang along to the silent melody with rapid ire.
Donnald couldn’t remember the last time he moved that fast. He was up and shuffling quickly to his door before he could even draw a breath, but by the time he got to Jenna’s room, it was already empty. The window standing open, the two panes staring down at him, with the vacant accusatory gleam of the morning light reflected off of them.
He fell to his knees, just inside the threshold of her abandoned room.
***
Donnald didn’t hear from his daughter for three months, that time was gray and lifeless in the failed father’s eyes. Then, on one of these lackluster mornings, the phone sitting on the shop counter rang, a bright, joyful noise that pierced through the still air.
Donnald answered it without much conviction.
“Hello, This is Donnald’s hardware store, Donnald speakin’, how can I help ya?”
“Daddy?”
All at once he couldn’t draw a breath, “J-Jenna?”
His voice sounded strangled as he battled with the sudden emotions, joy being the strongest of them.
There was a shaky half-chuckle on the other end. “Yea daddy, it’s me.”
“Oh darlin’, I’m so sorry!” The flood of words couldn’t help but flow from his mouth. “I should’uv let ya go, it wasn't none of my business to keep ya from yer dreams!” He paused to catch his breath.
Donnald was now leaning against the counter, staring earnestly at the opposite wall as if Jenna herself where standing there.
“Are ya comin’ home?” he managed, his voice halfway hopeful, but at the same time the sorrow of her first leaving was crawling back up his spine.
“No, Daddy, I’m not.” Sadness traced her every word. “I called to tell you that I made it.”
An elated thrill rushed through Donnald. He had been so scared for her. Scared that she would fail and have nothing to fall back on.
He had been wrong.
Donnald should have never doubted his daughter.
“They got me an apartment on the 66th, heh, it’s so clean.” She seemed to trail off for a moment in thought, perhaps about her new living. “Anyways, Mr. Wayland said that you could come live with me.”
He thought for a long while, and Jenna let him. Donnald took a long look of his surroundings, at his shop. This had been his father’s shop. He remembered helping his old man set up the shelves that still stand in the shop.
He grunted softly down the lump in his throat and shook his head toward the empty air.
“No, hon, I can’t be doin’ that,” His voice caught in his throat.
“Oh…” The dejection in her voice almost changed his mind.
“Y-you go ‘head and live yer life and visit every once ‘n a while, I always knew that you would move on to bigger things, no matter how hard I tried not to”
“Okay Daddy, I’ll do that”
***
Four years passed by, all the while Jenna kept in touch with her father. She would drop by to visit, with fantastical stories about the campus, or about the people she had met there.
However, every time she saw her father, his condition had worsened just a bit more, and eventually Jenna had to move him into a retirement home. The store had been closed for a year by that time.
***
She sat on the edge of his bed, one of his old and quickly feeble hands held between hers. Tears streamed down her youthful face as she retold the same story that she had for a week now. Donnald’s thinning face reacted as if he were just hearing it for the first time. He didn’t seem to notice her tears, his eyes were far off, possibly imagining what it had been like at her campus, or maybe he was reliving his childhood. She was lucky he even recognized her thin morning, at times he didn’t.
“Jenna?” His voice interrupted her and she looked at him.
“Yes Daddy?”
“When’s your mother gonna come? She’ll be so proud of you, she was worried ‘bout you makin’ friends this year”
Fresh tears flooded her eyes, she had gotten a small box of her mother’s things in the mail a month ago. Donnald’s beloved Vivian had run a red light on her way to an art convention and had been broadsided. She was killed on impact.
They had silently mourned for her in their own muted way.
“Daddy, don’t you remember? Y-you helped me pick out flowers to put on her grave just last week. Re-remember?” she was crying fully now, “I showed you pictures and you liked the blue daffodils.”
Realization flooded his tired features and he uttered a mournful sigh, as he did every time he regained composure. “I’m sorry darlin’ I think it's best you get going’ now. Don’t you have class today?”
She nodded softly and stood to go. “I’ll call and check up on you tonight okay?”
He responded with a grunt, and she left.
Jenna took the bus back to her apartment, the whole while reflecting on the lies that she told her father.
As it turned out, Donnald had been right. She was talented in the way of dance, but academically, she lacked greatly. Jenna had failed out of her second semester at Juilliard, three years ago.
She watched as Manhattan slipped by behind her, gray and uninteresting. The music was barely audible in her head. As her bus entered the Lincoln Tunnel she closed her eyes to try and summon the tune. This time of thinking was torturous for her. The journey from her father’s resting home to her apartment in Hauxhurst Avenue was a long one. She lived in it with two other girls that she worked with at a dine and drive four blocks away.
She closed her red rimmed eyes and rested her forehead against the cool window, listening to the sounds of the other passengers making their way from Manhattan to New York on the cheapest bus they could find.
Deflated joy tightened her mouth into a slight, disappointed grimace as she lifted her lean body from the small bed in her meager room. She gave a droll stare about, memorizing, yet again, the words that her mother had taught her.
“Never stop dreaming, and if they try and leave you, chase them to the ends of the earth, because in this world, dreams are all we have.” the last advice her mother gave her before she left, had become the mantra that she told herself every day.
With a soft sigh she stood.
Her room was barely big enough to house her bed, let alone anything else. The walls, once a pale blue, were now stained with yellow near the top because of years of water damage from the cracked, sagging ceiling above her. Decoration was sparse. As was her need to stay in this place. Her wardrobe consisted of worn clothing passed on from neighbors or family that were better off than her, and her father ever would be, if fate had anything to do with it.
With a brief stretch of her frame, she padded over to her squat, off-white dresser. Jenna selected a faded gray shirt that hung off of her and ripped, stained blue jeans that she had received from her cousin. She could already feel the weight of her existence pressing down on her slender shoulders for the day.
Summoning up a well fabricated smile, she left her room to greet her father.
He sat at their rickety pine dining table, silently enduring the chunky oatmeal that was their breakfast each morning. She added a bounce to her step to compensate for the extra droop to her father’s posture, and gave him a warm kiss on his scruffy cheek in greeting.
He sat up and smiled; he wasn’t as good at hiding his mood.
“Mornin’ darlin’” Donnald Harring slurred out to his daughter gruffly.
“Morning Daddy,” she took her seat across from him, “How did you sleep?”
“Slept alright, you?”
She blew a short, dismissive snort through her dainty nose and spooned the crummy oatmeal into a bowl for herself. “It was fine. I didn’t get to bed till late.”
“You been practicin’ at night again?” She could hear the mute annoyance in his kind voice.
“Yes…”
Donnald set his spoon down and matched his gaze with hers, “You can’t be doin’ that Jenna. Do you know what kind of people creep ‘round here in the dark?”
“I was in the bah-”
“No, Jenna, I’ve told you before. Stay inside when it’s dark out”
Jenna’s gaze fell sullenly to inspect the ragged grains of the table. A silence washed over the morning and clung to the two of them as they made the short walk to Donnald’s business; a small hardware store that sat on the corner of a once busy street. Now, like everything else that time gets its eroding hands on, the shop had faded into the background, going virtually unnoticed by onlookers. The only income her father got anymore came from generous long-time customers that took pity on his worn establishment.
Jenna padded almost boredly to the back of the store; her father used half of what he made every month to buy more supplies, and today was unloading day.
Ever since Donnald threw out his back years earlier by doing this same laborious task, Jenna had been reluctantly put in charge of stock, unpacking and shelving the cheap items. This job kept her lean and strong, which added to the reason her father worried about her so much.
Watching as he stood behind the counter, Donnald saw traces of his wife in his beautiful daughter. She was growing to become a wonderful woman and he feared for her. He feared that the fire that she carried now would be snuffed out by this dingy life. He knew that she would be crushed when she found out that her wild and ambitious dreams were just that: figments of a hope that couldn’t go further than their miniscule back yard. He dreaded seeing that happen to her.
Nothing extraordinary happened during work hours. An occasional familiar face would pop in, buy a few things, and leave with a self-righteous pride to their features, like they had just donated to a charity. Donnald went on tending the front, sporting a pleasant facade, while Jenna finished with the stock and meticulously organized the shelves.
On their way home after hours, Jenna was more lively, the dimming glow of the onsetting evening animating her. She strode boldly, just ahead of her father and scanned their surroundings like they were new to her bright eyes.
To Donnald, this city was wholly the same, night and day.
Jenna would argue that as the sun sets, the dreary, gray Manhattan transformed beautifully into a radiant array of towering lights, the navy sky providing an endless canvas for the city to show its magnificence.
Upon arriving home, the two parted and headed to their respective rooms. Donnald tiredly sunk down to his empty queen-sized bed and gazed dully at the vacant indention beside him.
“Oh, Viv,” he addressed the still air. “She’s so much like you”
In the expected silence that followed, Donnald reflected back to his Vivian’s smile, her modest but knowing laugh. How had he not seen it? Why did he not notice her lethargy when he even mentioned the store, her apparent withdrawal from them? Jenna had. He remembered his young daughter- six at the time- running to him with tears in her eyes, crying about how her mommy didn’t love them any more. He recalled scolding her for saying such things, and telling little Jenna that her mother would always love her.
Three weeks later he had found a letter, explaining that Vivian was not his any more. That she couldn’t take it any longer and had boarded the next train to Chicago.
There was no conversation. No closure.
When he come to Jenna, the words locking up his mouth, he could tell that she knew already. She simply pulled her father to her and hugged him, he cradled her as if she was still a small infant. In the time following, Jenna was the stronger of the two.
Donnald closed his eyes with a resigned sigh and let himself dream of his elusive Vivian.
Jenna went to her room, and instead of lying down to sleep like her father, she quietly changed her clothing. Slipping out of her T-shirt and jeans and into black tights with a close fitting tank top, she stepped over to her window, which looked out at their meager backyard.
Halfway out, Jenna froze and whipped her head around, making sure her bedroom door remained peacefully shut. All was still.
Slowly, she eased her limber body out of the window, making not even the slightest of noises. Jenna shivered slightly as the cool night air prickled her skin with its welcome. There was only the faint sound of the city to accompany her as she started to stretch her muscles.
After Jenna was through preparing, she started to dance.
Long graceful movements had her in harmony with everything around her. Her body flowed with the music that only her ears could decipher. She twisted and twirled with self-taught expertise.
This was her dream.
To dance.
Only now, while Jenna could embrace the music that echoes all around, was she truly herself, truly happy. Her eyes were closed as she filled the small yard with her fluid talent.
She didn’t hear the hushed drone of the pale yellow taxi cab as it slowed down across the empty street. She didn’t notice the engine as it sat idle and a figure watched silently from behind the tinted glass, and she didn’t look up as the car resumed its journey, leaving her alone in the cool moonlight.
It wasn’t until after the all of the streetlights went out that Jenna found herself weary and she silently crept back through her window, yawning pleasantly.
***
The next day rolled along without much change. That is, until Jenna and her father returned home, weary from yet another day of exhausting work.
They had just settled down for dinner when there came a knock on the door. Jenna promptly moved to answer it.
A tall man stood on the other side of their threshold. His eyes were a striking, metallic blue, and they peered down at Jenna from under thick but well maintained eyebrows that were flecked with black and silver. His clean shaven face was just slightly lined around those eyes. He smiled warmly down at her, something in that look brought her to believe that she had met this man before. But she would have remembered that.
When he spoke, his voice was like mercury; it flowed from his mouth and reverberated around her with such defined subtleties.
“Young miss, is your father home?”
It took Jenna a moment to register his words. “Ah… Yes, I’ll… um, go get him.”
She half-jogged to retrieve her father, feeling foolish. Something about this stranger struck up a curiosity within her. When her father hoisted himself out of his chair to see to the gentleman, Jenna tried to resist the strong urge to eavesdrop. She ended up doing so anyways.
Donnald answered the door with his usual grunt of a half-interested greeting.
“Yes, hello, are you Donnald Harring?” The man spoke before he could, bringing a crease to Donnald’s brow.
“That’ll be me. Now who’s askin’?” In his mind, Jenna’s father had already made the decision that this man was going to try and sell him something useless.
“My name is Alec Wayland”, he dug around the pocket of his pristine, tailored coat and produced a small blue business card.
Donnald took it from Wayland’s clean hand and inspected it without thought, until his tired eyes traced the words Juilliard, with three words typed out in gray beside it, dance drama and music. His expression shifted from mildly annoyed, to curious, then it faded to doubtful.
“I am here on behalf of The Juilliard School. If you do not know, we specialize in the fine arts, particularly dance. From what I understand a colleague of mine witnessed your daughter dancing yesterday evening.”
Donnald’s eyebrows furrowed at this, but then realization smoothed his features. “What are ya sayin?”
“The time period for Juilliard to accept new enrollments has passed, but my associate has convinced the board to allow your daughter to audition for a scholarship for next semester.”
Silence rang through the small house. On the other side of the wall, Jenna fought against her fluttering thoughts to keep from either fainting outright, or running out to Wayland and throwing her arms around the man’s neck in gratitude. In her mind she had already made it. She knew that she could make it. Her heart raced at the possibilities. Juilliard was one of the best schools in the state, and the thought of them thinking her worthy to attend. She could already taste the campus air...
“No. Absolutely not.” The pained finality in her father's voice shattered any of her excitement.
“Ex-excuse me?” Wayland’s surprised tone echoed her own.
“You heard me, I said no. My Jenna’s only seventeen and-”
‘We accept students as young as sixteen”
“I don’t care Mr. Wayland, I’ll not have my daughter shipped off to some rich school where she’s just going to get shot down.”
The words knifed through Jenna as of he had just swung a blade. Her mouth hung open. She stifled a devastated sob and ran noisily to her room.
The resounding slam of her door made Donnald jump and he clenched his eyes shut before slowly shutting the door to Wayland’s face, giving him enough time to step back.
Once in the frigid solitude of her room, Jenna flung herself down on her small bed. As she buried her face in her pillow, the force of her sobs wracked her frame, sending shudders through her. The brokenhearted noise was audible from the other side of the door.
Donnald let his calloused fingers touch the knob of his daughter’s door, but instead of opening it, he listened silently as Jenna cried herself to exausted sleep. Tears of his own dripped down and clinged to his slightly overgrown stubble.
***
In the morning, Donnald woke to hurried shuffling from the other room. At first he thought of burglars, then he blinked and realized that, one, there was nothing in his house to steal, and two, the noise was coming from Jenna’s room.
Jenna hurried through her things, shoving all of it haphazardly into a ratty suitcase. Hot tears ran down her cheek, grim determination panted on her red and blotchy face.
In her mind the music played loudly, urging her on. The words her mother told her long ago sang along to the silent melody with rapid ire.
Donnald couldn’t remember the last time he moved that fast. He was up and shuffling quickly to his door before he could even draw a breath, but by the time he got to Jenna’s room, it was already empty. The window standing open, the two panes staring down at him, with the vacant accusatory gleam of the morning light reflected off of them.
He fell to his knees, just inside the threshold of her abandoned room.
***
Donnald didn’t hear from his daughter for three months, that time was gray and lifeless in the failed father’s eyes. Then, on one of these lackluster mornings, the phone sitting on the shop counter rang, a bright, joyful noise that pierced through the still air.
Donnald answered it without much conviction.
“Hello, This is Donnald’s hardware store, Donnald speakin’, how can I help ya?”
“Daddy?”
All at once he couldn’t draw a breath, “J-Jenna?”
His voice sounded strangled as he battled with the sudden emotions, joy being the strongest of them.
There was a shaky half-chuckle on the other end. “Yea daddy, it’s me.”
“Oh darlin’, I’m so sorry!” The flood of words couldn’t help but flow from his mouth. “I should’uv let ya go, it wasn't none of my business to keep ya from yer dreams!” He paused to catch his breath.
Donnald was now leaning against the counter, staring earnestly at the opposite wall as if Jenna herself where standing there.
“Are ya comin’ home?” he managed, his voice halfway hopeful, but at the same time the sorrow of her first leaving was crawling back up his spine.
“No, Daddy, I’m not.” Sadness traced her every word. “I called to tell you that I made it.”
An elated thrill rushed through Donnald. He had been so scared for her. Scared that she would fail and have nothing to fall back on.
He had been wrong.
Donnald should have never doubted his daughter.
“They got me an apartment on the 66th, heh, it’s so clean.” She seemed to trail off for a moment in thought, perhaps about her new living. “Anyways, Mr. Wayland said that you could come live with me.”
He thought for a long while, and Jenna let him. Donnald took a long look of his surroundings, at his shop. This had been his father’s shop. He remembered helping his old man set up the shelves that still stand in the shop.
He grunted softly down the lump in his throat and shook his head toward the empty air.
“No, hon, I can’t be doin’ that,” His voice caught in his throat.
“Oh…” The dejection in her voice almost changed his mind.
“Y-you go ‘head and live yer life and visit every once ‘n a while, I always knew that you would move on to bigger things, no matter how hard I tried not to”
“Okay Daddy, I’ll do that”
***
Four years passed by, all the while Jenna kept in touch with her father. She would drop by to visit, with fantastical stories about the campus, or about the people she had met there.
However, every time she saw her father, his condition had worsened just a bit more, and eventually Jenna had to move him into a retirement home. The store had been closed for a year by that time.
***
She sat on the edge of his bed, one of his old and quickly feeble hands held between hers. Tears streamed down her youthful face as she retold the same story that she had for a week now. Donnald’s thinning face reacted as if he were just hearing it for the first time. He didn’t seem to notice her tears, his eyes were far off, possibly imagining what it had been like at her campus, or maybe he was reliving his childhood. She was lucky he even recognized her thin morning, at times he didn’t.
“Jenna?” His voice interrupted her and she looked at him.
“Yes Daddy?”
“When’s your mother gonna come? She’ll be so proud of you, she was worried ‘bout you makin’ friends this year”
Fresh tears flooded her eyes, she had gotten a small box of her mother’s things in the mail a month ago. Donnald’s beloved Vivian had run a red light on her way to an art convention and had been broadsided. She was killed on impact.
They had silently mourned for her in their own muted way.
“Daddy, don’t you remember? Y-you helped me pick out flowers to put on her grave just last week. Re-remember?” she was crying fully now, “I showed you pictures and you liked the blue daffodils.”
Realization flooded his tired features and he uttered a mournful sigh, as he did every time he regained composure. “I’m sorry darlin’ I think it's best you get going’ now. Don’t you have class today?”
She nodded softly and stood to go. “I’ll call and check up on you tonight okay?”
He responded with a grunt, and she left.
Jenna took the bus back to her apartment, the whole while reflecting on the lies that she told her father.
As it turned out, Donnald had been right. She was talented in the way of dance, but academically, she lacked greatly. Jenna had failed out of her second semester at Juilliard, three years ago.
She watched as Manhattan slipped by behind her, gray and uninteresting. The music was barely audible in her head. As her bus entered the Lincoln Tunnel she closed her eyes to try and summon the tune. This time of thinking was torturous for her. The journey from her father’s resting home to her apartment in Hauxhurst Avenue was a long one. She lived in it with two other girls that she worked with at a dine and drive four blocks away.
She closed her red rimmed eyes and rested her forehead against the cool window, listening to the sounds of the other passengers making their way from Manhattan to New York on the cheapest bus they could find.