Running Barefoot
Page 94

He rocked me, rubbing my back, and smoothing my hair as I wept into his shirt. I thought I was done with tears. I didn’t want to cry for Kasey anymore. But I knew I wasn’t crying for him. I think I was crying out of self-pity, and that was even worse. I rubbed angrily at my cheeks and pressed my fists into my eyes, willing myself to stop.
“I’m in love with Samuel, Dad.”
My dad’s feet stuttered a little in their rhythm and then, with barely a hitch, resumed rocking.
“I thought maybe you might be. You’ve been acting so strange lately.” He lifted me up off his chest so he could stare into my face. “But honey….isn’t it a little too soon to know? He was only in town about a month.”
I laughed out loud, the sound harsh and humorless. “I’ve loved Samuel since I was thirteen-years-old, Dad.” I responded, staring back into his eyes, smiling at his shock. I patted his cheek, reassuring him. “Don’t worry, Dad. It wasn’t like that.” I leaned back against him as I told him our love story. For that is what it was.
“Samuel and I met on the school bus. We were assigned to the same seat. For eight months we rode that bus back and forth from Nephi, and we slowly became friends. We fell in love to Beethoven and Shakespeare. We argued about books and bias and principles and passion. Our friendship was truly unique.” I paused a little, gathering my thoughts. “I didn’t know how special he was until he was gone. I didn’t realize I was in love with him; I just wanted my friend back. And he was gone so long. He was gone long enough for me to believe he was never coming back - gone long enough for me to fall in love again. The second time, with Kasey, I was old enough to recognize it for what it was. I was smart enough to hold on tight, and that made losing Kasey even harder. I had been in love before, and I knew how it felt to lose it.”
“I never knew anything about Samuel, Josie.” My dad’s voice was disbelieving.
“Nobody did, Dad. I didn’t know how to share him. I thought if I talked about him it might make you nervous. He was eighteen years old - and half Navajo Indian to boot, which would have made you even more uncomfortable because you didn’t know anything about him or where he came from. I was your thirteen-year-old daughter. Do you see the dilemma?”
“Yeah. Not an easy sell, huh?” My dad muttered and chuckled sympathetically at my long ago plight.
We rocked in silence once more.
“So what now, Josie?” My dad said slowly. “Where is he?”
My heart contracted fiercely. “I told him I couldn’t marry him, Dad. This is my home. He’s a Marine, and he has responsibilities. He can’t stay, I can’t go. That’s all there is to it.” My voice carried a bravado that was all pretend.
“Is it because of what you said before, Josie?” My dad asked gently.
“What do you mean?” I asked hesitantly, not following.
“When you said you didn’t know how to say goodbye this time. Why can’t you say goodbye? You just said yourself you loved Samuel even before you loved Kasey. Why would you give Samuel up when Kasey is lost to you, anyway?”
“I’ve never been the one to leave, Dad.” I didn’t know how to put any of this into words. My dad looked at me somberly, waiting. “Everyone has left me….Mom, Samuel, Kasey, even Sonja. They left. I stayed. I don’t know how to leave. It just feels wrong. It feels wrong to leave Sonja, wrong to leave you, and it feels like a betrayal to let Kasey go.”
“Don’t you think he’d want you to?”
“I honestly don’t know, Dad. Being left behind is horrible.”
“Ah honey, you’re not thinking straight.” He was quiet for a moment, and I could tell he was struggling to say what came next. “And don’t think I didn’t know that some of your dilemma is leaving me. I won’t have it, Josie. I am your father, and you are not going to stay here your whole life out of loyalty to me. Growing up and moving out is not the same thing as leaving, and you can’t think of it like that.” His voice was stern, and I decided not to argue with him.
“Do you think Kasey loved you, Josie?” My dad asked after a moment or two.
“I know he did, Dad,” I answered, and felt myself getting choked up all over again.
“I know he did too, honey. But I don’t know that you woulda been as happy as you coulda been if you’d married him.”
I was stunned. “What are you talking about?” My dad had never expressed any misgivings to me about Kasey.
“Kasey was a good boy. He was everything a man wants for his daughter. He would have been loyal and hardworking. He would have been loving and faithful and committed to you all your life.”
“But…?” There was a ‘but’ in this equation, and I couldn’t even guess at what it might be.
“But you woulda been lonely deep down. You woulda been fightin’ it all your life.”
“I wasn’t lonely with Kasey ever!” I argued sincerely.
“You woulda been, honey. You have this hunger for…for things that are a mystery to me. You’ve got music in your blood. You see beauty in things other people just take for granted. You need understanding, and, and…deep conversation, and someone who can keep up with that mind of yours! When you were just a little kid you would ask me the strangest things about God and the universe…things that would blow me away. One time, you were playing with this puzzle on the floor, and you couldn’t have been more than five or six. You stopped and looked at the puzzle for a long time. Finally, you asked me, ‘Dad, do you think this puzzle could ever put itself together if I shook it just right?’ and I said, ‘No honey, I don’t think there’s any chance of that.’ Do you remember what you said then?”