September 8, 2014 | Occasus | Issue 4 | Creative Nonfiction

My Girl

The marina looked beautiful that day. The harbour was littered with boaters up for the May 2-4 weekend, music playing from the dock of our neighbour’s boat. The sun shone directly into my field of vision, too bright too soon after my nap. I was in overalls, my hair tied with a scrunchie, playing Barbies with my sister. I was five.

Mom was sitting in her bathing suit on the dock with a friend, Janice, catching the last of the afternoon sun. Dad was drinking a beer, watching over my sister and I.

“The one weekend Jackie and Ron aren’t up, they’re playing with those Barbies they got them,” Mom said, cracking her bubble gum between her lips. “Figures.”

“Send them a picture,” Janice said. “You guys lucked out – they’re great kids.”

“Of course,” Dad replied, hoisting me up and smacking a stubbly kiss on my cheek. “They’re my girls.”

My sister dropped her Barbie and ran over to him, her little legs struggling to keep up with the rest of her, and Dad picked her up by the stomach and sat her down on his lap. He kissed the top of her head.

When I looked over at Mom, she was sitting up, holding a camera up to her face.

“Vanessa, Victoria – say cheese!” she said, waving her hands to catch the attention of my younger sister. Dad wrapped his arms around my sister and I, tickling my stomach lightly. I laughed, my entire face breaking out into earnest laughter.

Flash.

It is twelve years later when I see the developed photograph, flicking through photo albums the day Dad left. We don’t have a boat anymore.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, dressed and ready three hours before I was supposed to get up for school. I couldn’t rationalize sleeping after dreams of sleeping through my alarm and missing him as he left.

The unsteady wheels of his luggage stumbled as he made his way down the stairs. Everything collapses inside of me all at once. I sit up straighter and bite my lip.

He noticed me in the kitchen when he hit the landing. He was wearing a suit.

Pretend he’s just going on a business trip, I tell myself.

“You’re up early,” he said quietly.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied shortly. I looked at luggage. “That’s a big suitcase.” 

“I shouldn’t be gone too long. I’ll be back as soon as Mom says I can.” 

“You think that’s going to be anytime soon?” I scoffed. “Where are you even staying anyways, at her house?”

“Of course not,” he said immediately. “I would never do that.”

“Just like you’d never cheat on mom?”

His mouth became a thin line. Silence. “I don’t expect you to understand, but please know how sorry I am.”

I looked away from him, fighting tears. I caught a glimpse of the photo album, still open on the table, to the picture of him, my sister and I. He knelt down and hugged me, eyes tear-stained.

“I’ll be back soon, okay? I’m going to fix this.”

Despite everything, I still believed him. He would fix this. He had to.

“Okay.”

He let go eventually. “You’re my girl, don’t forget that. I love you.”

I said nothing in return. I went back up to my room after he hugged me again, crying this time, and then left. I watched him back his car out of the driveway, turning off the street that he could no longer call his own, and waited for him to come back.

VICTORIA WIEBE is a first year student at Western University, with an intended major of Psychology with a minor in Creative Writing. Writing has always been her passion, penning three novel-length works (two of which, Continuum and The Lonely Hearts, have been published), as well as countless poems. She will serve as President of Creative Writing Club for the 2014-2015 year, as well as editor-in-chief of Nom de Plume literary magazine.