Gentle, now, honey. Can you stand?
I can, Daddy.
What do you see?
Lanterns and glowing dragons. Vases and velvet and blossoms. Another world.
A beleaguered father steps gingerly as he cradles his daughter. She wears her pink bunny hat from Halloween. The floppy ears sway. She is threadbare underneath and ether in his arms. It’s June and the plumping dandelions are warming in the grass, curious, and holding on for dear life as dusk paints his descent.
He disappears into the cool earth, the shovels and pickaxes hushed, and a hundred candles light their path. The pirouetting radiance shows the eyes and hands and the glowing crescent moons of benevolent, smooth, and shining heads.
No tears forecast—clear skies now.
A beggar’s rain another day, perchance.
If fate brings what may.
My neighbor bought a backhoe. His body vibrates as we speak.
What’s the deal with the backhoe, Frank?
I stand on my tiptoes, my eyes visible over the weather-worn wooden fence separating our worlds.
I’m going to dig.
What for?
For Elise. I’m going to China.
His voice is flat, his words come at me directly, with no inflection. There is no flex in Frank’s tongue, his mind an aluminum extruder.
That’s a long way—are you sure about that?
I’ll stop when I see the tops of their heads.
It might be their feet. I’m not quite certain how that’s going to work.
Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’m doing it.
How’s Elise doing?
Frank exhales deeply and I swear the fence pushes my way.
We’ve got her on a new experimental platelet regimen. She’s either getting the drug or the placebo. There’s no way to know.
Sorry, that’s rough.
You get kind of get numb to it. She lost her hair. The mirror scares her. We all shaved our heads, Marjorie, and the boys, too. Thought that might help.
He lifts his baseball cap to show me but there is no need. Hair. I never thought of it as a security blanket.
What do the doctors say?
They don’t know shit. Most of ‘em anyway. One thinks she should be dead already but she’s a tough nut. Has a lot of her Mom in her. A couple of others think three months. That’s why I’m digging. There’s no fucking time to waste.
Sorry, I don’t understand. Why are you digging?
El wants to go to China. She watched Mulan, you know, the Disney thing, It's all she talks about. But she’s too weak to make that flight. And we don’t have the money, anyway. Frank hangs his head and toes the grass. A part of me wishes— you know—she’s in such awful pain most days…I just…I just…want it to end.
Frank stiffens.
I’ve never said that out loud. Christ, what a fucking coward I am.
You love your daughter, Frank. It’s that simple. You’d take her place if you could, I’m sure.
Yes.
Frank is a man gushing indispensable oil. The grass under his feet has gone bad. He is reducing before my eyes, and I scream to pull him back to me.
Have you called Make A Wish? Frank, HEY FRANK, have you called Make A Wish?
I tried. Covid screwed that up, plus all the rest of it now. Airlines are a mess. We don’t have time for the red tape. We don’t have time.
He turns and walks into his little house, smaller by the day. The backhoe looks concerned.
A distress signal booms over our peaceful hamlet. From far, from wide, they come. Over hill. Out of the mountains, streaming. The forests, too. And they carry shovels, all. Young and old. Frail and strong. Friend, neighbor, stranger. And they dig. And they dig. And they dig.
And they lay great stone tiles. And they hang gingham and silk and tapestries of gold with birds and butterflies in abundance. They carry armloads of orchids, chrysanthemums, bougainvillea, lilacs, and daphne. Shrubs and blooming trees. They place pillows with care. Lovebirds coo in a gilded cage.
From dawn to sundown and back again.
They build a sanctuary for Elise.
At their feet a mountain of dirt and rock.
Tresses, locks, and manes.
All their hair is out of place.
I made it, didn’t I?
You sure did, El. We both did.
Can we stay here?
For as long as you want, my sweet. This world belongs to you.
Forever?
How about until our hair grows back? Deal?
Deal.
This one made me sit back and pause. Then I’m grateful. Thanks Dave