Father- daughter
It unwinds him
how little, pink and fragile she looks on arrival. He has heard they usually
look this way but he manages to see her as more exposed and his first instinct
is to protect her. She is his and he doesn’t totally understand how he had
contributed to the creation of a being just like the ones he had always adored,
admired and feared simultaneously. He holds her in his arms and she moves and makes
sounds trying to cosy up into this new resting place. He holds her tiny hands
and they are warm then she opens her eyes shyly and looks at him and he is
enthralled. It lasts only a moment, her glance, before she shuts them again to
sleep but it meant a lot to him, she had seen him, maybe even recognised him. He
suddenly realises that he had lusted over and hurt her grown type and he
immediately feels sorry for it all and wants to make sure to keep her so much
so that none of his type ever lust over her, ever.
He has got
this in control; this being a father, amuser and protector thing. He really
doesn’t have to do much; just carry her a few times when she’s awake. Maybe
change a diaper or two, in which case his wife must feel really grateful and
lucky that he is such a good father. His baby is almost always so happy when he
carries her and she is happy to do as he says. She seeks him and is excited
about anything he presents to her. She makes him laugh hard and thinks him her
hero. He likes this position, this control over another being who is his.
Then she
starts to want more. She wants more than his attention, his presence, his
presents, his tricks. She's reluctant to try new summersault techniques and her body almost always hurts. It’s becoming uncomfortable to
look at her or carry her because there are now two moulds on her chest. They
just freaking grow up so fast, it blows. That’s what she says “it blows” what
happened to the old time “it’s annoying”. What does ‘blows’ mean anyway? The
baggy trousers and shirts he bought her now seem to be going down her box and
she wears more of skinnies and tights and silk. He hated this loss of control
over her and any iota of it, that he thought remained, flew out of the window the day he saw her coming
from a party with make-up on and behind her were boys boys? boys!...
He doesn't know how it happens but she gets molested and his heart is broken; he sees her
as damaged just like that girl he heard about…
He feels sorry
and inadequate for not fulfilling his post as protector but instead of
apologizing and helping her mend he becomes a coward. He can’t look her in the
face so he avoids her like one would do a plague. In order to protect himself
from his inadequacy; which really isn’t his fault, he makes her feel unwanted,
ugly, used, inadequate. He turns his own angel into a leper in his house. She
feels unimportant probably even like an object to be used. Becoming what society
often refers to as a girl with daddy issues. In some off way, she finds she
poses some sort of power over these men and decides it is better to make them
pay for what is already being referred to as damaged goods. She convinces
herself that it is a win-win situation.
A friend of
her father sees her in a club or some other place he frequents when his wife is
"stressing him out" and goes to tell her father about it. He sits and listens,
stammers and raises his voice as he says that he has disowned her a long time
ago. He never thought she could amount to anything reasonable anyway. His
highest hopes was that at least she’d give him a rich in-law but apparently she
couldn’t even do that much. Imagine, she doesn’t even speak the dialect well.
She was probably a gift-the revengeful curse of an old girlfriend-sent to
punish him. They laugh about this and a picture of her innocent- tiny- pink-fragile-self
flashes through his mind and he chokes on his gin. His younger daughter rushes
to get him a glass of water and she can’t look him in the eye. This must be a
nightmare, his soul screams but instead of telling her ‘thank you’ he yells at
her to get another glass of water for his friend who he catches watching her
backside as she walks away.
My favourite writer, an engrossing piece. Another Damusca classic! Love it
ReplyDeleteTnx sweet. A million kisses. Errrr forehead n cheeks o!
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