Style: Narrative
Statement: On realizations and being grateful for the way things turn out.
My hands scratch at the notebook in frustration. I can't solve it at all, and now I'm stuck. Where I've always been is here, stuck in place, unable to move. In Saratoga, people have full control over their destiny, but it feels like my destiny ends with the one math problem I can't solve. Then, he sits down on the dining chair that's next to me. It's his usual spot, chosen peculiarly convenient to get up and move around, and his red beanie sits with him.
It's the same beanie from 7 years ago, when I, having pure, childish innocence, cared about getting the doughnuts after the Christmas parade ended or looking for snow among leaves rather than how many points on a test from 3 weeks ago. It took some convincing at the time, but he went because his kids wanted to. His book rests next to the beanie. I’ve always glanced at him reading while I work. It's almost like a silent tradition, the sort of secret ones shared behind closed doors and warm evenings at the fireplace. This time, the book is about physics and its applications in the universe. The person on the cover grins at me, and I wince at the pretentiousness of the picture, unbefitting him. He fidgets with the corner of the table mat, thinking about something. His face is always unreadable, and I don't bother guessing anyway. I look down and stare back at the math problem, chewing at the skin on my lip anxiously.
For the first time in a while, I can't solve it no matter how hard I try. I look over to him, but he's unscrewing another computer, and then suddenly little screws are everywhere. He and I both exchange glances and I scramble to help. They seem to be laughing at me, as they escape my fumbling, child-like fingers when I attempt to stop them from falling off the wood table’s edge. He catches them swiftly and scolds me for being absent-minded and bundles the electronics together. Only a few moments of silence sit between us and the tap drips slowly to fill the space. After a pause, I ask for help on the problem, and he doesn't hesitate to ponder the words, toying with different methods of solving what seemed to be impossible to me. I slump and put my head on the table, cold wood hugging my cheek. I can only sit there all glum, watching him fiddle with the dining mat as he thinks. Watching a hummingbird fly into our window, I can’t help but wish I was a bird as well. They can fly to all sorts of places, live freely, and enjoy the happiness of bird life. He starts with "Ah" and begins to explain. I lift up my head to stare at the tear-stained page where the blue line spread, and scribble furiously, trying to solve it with his clues. Somehow, it works miracles, and I can only stare at him in disbelief. If only being a bird was a choice for me.
In relief, I turn the page. More problems to solve and things to fix. He sits quietly, inspecting wires and circuits as I scan every word, not daring to miss a detail. Somewhere in the words, a thought pops up in my head, and I wonder how he has created his own miracle. I have him, but he didn't have anyone when he was in my position. He had the streets of dirt and dogs, of loud beeping and rain pouring, of clanking and churning. His room was empty and cold, simple as it may have been. Mine is warm, from all the things he's built in there and in this house. Every wall is adorned with something elegant or new. The swing he's built rocks from time to time, right in the main room, and every plant he's watered is growing on the patio or in the garden. Suddenly I no longer wish to be a bird because he didn’t dare to do so either.
My mind snaps back to the page, and I shake myself into the laser focus I should have genetically inherited from him, but didn't. The stillness of this moment is shared as we work in our comfortable silence. He probably won't ever speak much of it, but I know it. I’ve always known it and yet, I forget myself. In this soft and quiet evening, I shake off my clumsy thoughts and scribble on a notebook, and my father quickly finishes fixing his laptop to sit and read a book on physics.
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