The Summer I Learned to Dive

Chapter 21

Nana let me borrow her truck to go see my father. It was a rough ride and the truck shifted loudly every time I changed gears. It was hard for me think about anything other than meeting my father. The image I had always had of him was when he was young before he got sick. It was how I pictured him, handsome, youthful, and happy. The few pictures my mother had of him were when he was young before I was born. I wondered what he looked like now. Was he the angelic image I had in my head? I was nervous, the further I drove, the more I wondered if I should turn around and forget about ever meeting him. I feared his rejection. I was afraid of the unknown. What would he think of me?

He lived in a remote area, out past my grandparents’ house, past any point of civilization. I felt like I was lost. Nana’s directions had been explicit, telling me every turn I needed to make, every landmark I need to pay attention to. Still, I felt like I had made a wrong turn because I was headed to the middle of nowhere.

I turned a sharp right down a long gravel road. Large, formidable trees surrounded me on both sides. I was in the middle of a lush forest, full of trees and other plant life. I looked at my directions again, ensuring I had turned down the right road. I had and continued to drive another long mile, finally reaching my father’s house. He lived in an old log cabin covered in wood that was worn and weathered. The landscaping was impeccable, filled with flowers and plants. A birdbath stood in the center of a vegetable garden. A large shade tree, perfectly manicured, was adjacent to the cabin. I parked the truck behind an old yellow Toyota Corolla. I turned off the ignition and sat in the truck for a while too nervous to do anything else. I noticed him looking out the window pulling back the curtains and peering at me. I couldn’t get a good enough look at him to see his face clearly. I wondered if he was as anxious about meeting me as I was him. I asked myself who was going to be the brave one and go first. I saw him looking out the window again. I leaned my head back against the seat and breathed heavily out loud. I knew it was going to have to be me. I would have to dive right in and be the courageous one. Somehow it made me feel better knowing that he was just as scared as I was. I just needed to muster enough courage to get out of the car.

I don’t know where I got the strength but I finally got out of the car and walked toward his front door. A yellow lab I had not noticed before ran anxiously toward me, wagging its tail. It jumped up on me, nearly knocking me over by its size and force. “You’re friendly aren’t you,” I said to it. The dog stood back on all fours and continued wagging its tail. I patted its head and smiled at it. It followed me as I walked slowly toward the door. My heart beat rapidly.

He didn’t wait for me to knock on the door instead he opened it and quietly smiled at me. “Jack, sit,” he ordered. The yellow lab happily complied and sat down on the porch, his tail still subtly wagging. “Hello,” he said, his voice deep, his accent thick. His hair was red, the same shade as mine. His face showed signs of age, a little worn with wrinkles. His skin was almost leathery and full of freckles. He was tall and thin, but still handsome. He fidgeted and moved toward me, awkwardly, unsure of what he should do. He looked as perplexed as I felt.

“Hi,” I paused. “I’m Finn,” I said extending my hand and then instantly retracted it, feeling strange for even offering it to him. I questioned what I should do. It didn’t feel right to hug him and shaking hands with him wasn’t right either. I settled on doing nothing instead saying the first thing that came to mind. “Your yard is beautiful,” I said trying to break the tension. His eyes instantly lit up, his posture more relaxed.

“Thank you. Do you like to garden?” He asked interested. He stood inside his house while I stood outside on his front porch, still uninvited to come inside.

“Not a lot. Grandpa has tried to get me into it.” I smiled instantly thinking of the first time I worked in the yard with him. It felt like a million years ago.

He looked at me curiously and attempted to smile. “Do you want to come in?” He gestured toward the inside.

“Sure,” I said. I followed him, Jack trailing behind me. Stacks and stacks of books filled the room. He sat down in an old leather recliner. I sat on an old floral couch across from him. Jack sat in a corner and closed his eyes. I looked around the room noticing there was no television set. The walls were full of vibrant, colorful paintings that I assumed were his. They were similar to the painting that hung on the wall in his old bedroom. The coffee table was covered in books. The room smelled earthy, musty, like a forest. We sat quietly, staring at each other. He tapped his hand on the chair, in near perfect rhythm, creating an imaginary song or playing an old familiar tune, I am not sure. I began to bite on my nails but stopped myself once I became conscious of what I was doing.

“I read a lot, too,” I said gesturing to his books. His face formed an excited expression.

“What do you like to read?” he asked eagerly, interested.

I shrugged. “Everything,” I said.

“Me, too,” he replied.

“Do you get lonely being out here all by yourself?” I asked. I knew I would if I lived there. It was remote and isolated.

He frowned pondering my question. “Not really. I like the solitude. I go into town from time to time and your grandparents visit me every week. Mostly though, I prefer to be here by myself reading and gardening,” he said. He scratched his head and attempted to smile at me. “Do you like to be alone?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” I confessed. “Not lately, though.” His forehead wrinkled, he stared at me confused. “It’s just, I was alone for a long time and I’ve recently made friends and I like it,’” I admitted.

“That’s good. Mom told me you’re going to college to be a doctor,” he said. He shifted in his chair nervously.

I almost began biting on my nails again, but stopped myself. “I am. I’m not so sure about being a doctor anymore, though,” I told him. I realized I was telling him something I had not told anyone else. It was a realization that I had come to recently but was afraid to admit to anyone else, let alone myself. All my life I had said I was going to be a doctor and lately, the idea didn’t seem appealing. It didn’t feel like a good fit. When I was at the hospital visiting Grandpa I nearly froze at the sight of him in the ICU, feeling sick to my stomach. I was starting to rethink it all.

“You’re not?” He frowned.

“I don’t know if it’s the right thing for me,” I admitted. “I’m still trying to figure out who I am,” I said.

“It’s hard being your age,” he replied and didn’t press further. He offered me something to drink. We drank sweet tea quietly, staring at each other, awkwardly smiling. I didn’t know what to say or even how to begin to know what to say to him.

“I’m sorry I left,” he said. I didn’t respond. He added, “I was very sick for a long time but I’m better now, a lot more stable. The meds that I’m on help me stay balanced.” He laughed nervously gauging my reaction. “I want to get to know you if you will let me,” he said looking at me, seeking my approval, curiously waiting for my answer.

“I’d like that,” I said quietly.

“Good,” he said and breathed a sigh of relief. “I was nervous to meet you.”

“Me, too.” I smiled, pleased that we were talking. “I didn’t know what to expect,” I said.

He smoothed his hair and shifted in his chair. “I thought you would get here and tell me off and then leave.”

I shook my head. “I don’t resent you. It’s not your fault,” I said.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I was sick for a long time. When I finally got better, I wanted to know you so badly, but didn’t know how to contact you. And, well, I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me if I did.” He tapped his fingers on the chair, playing Beethoven’s Fur Elise. His hand had a slight tremor. I wondered if that was a side effect of his medication.

“I want to get to know you,” I said. He slightly smiled at my response.

“Would you like to go outside?” he asked.

“Okay,” I said. He stood up and Jack followed. I walked with him outside. It was a warm day, but not humid. I stood next to him on the porch looking around at the trees, noticing the odd metal sculptures randomly placed throughout his yard. One that was completely made of kitchen utensils caught my eye. It was a little girl. He noticed me staring at it and said, “That’s you when you were little.”

I walked over to it and bent down to look at it. “It’s beautiful,” I said admiring it. Nana had said he was talented. I thought she was biased but I could see I was wrong. His art was amazing.

“It was the first sculpture I made,” he said.

“You’re very talented,” I said standing up facing him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, almost embarrassed by the compliment. He walked a little and then stopped. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked gesturing to his pipe.

“No,” I said. He put the pipe to his lips and lit the tobacco. He inhaled the smoke, puckering his lips, his hand shaking a little.

“Do you garden every day?” I asked.

“I try to during the spring and summer. It helps keep me grounded, keeps my mind off things.” He sucked on his pipe again, inhaling more smoke. I didn’t mind the smell. “Let’s take a walk,” he said. We walked toward his garden, Jack eagerly followed.

I stopped and admired the daisies. “Do you like daisies?” he asked noticing me.

“Yes,” I nodded. “They’re my favorite flower. Something about them makes me happy,” I said. He took a pocket knife out of his front pocket and cut several from the ground and handed them to me.

“Here. You can put them in a vase when you get home,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. It melted my heart. I could see why my mother had fallen in love with him. It was a kind gesture; his way of saying he loved me. This is what I imagined a father would be like with his daughter. At that moment, I wanted that feeling to last forever. It was a feeling of warmth and protection. It must be what most girls feel like when growing up with a dad.

We walked in his yard admiring the flowers. He told me about each and every plant and flower, giving me intricate details, more than I could ever know, but I enjoyed listening to him. He was excited to share what he knew with me, to talk to me. I listened patiently, intently, eagerly. Hearing his voice, standing next to him, it felt surreal. I couldn’t believe that I was in this close proximity to my father, the man I thought was dead for more than sixteen years. I wanted to relish every second of the day and remember it detail for detail. I had a father and I was not willing to let him go, not when I finally had him again.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” he asked as we stood in front of Nana’s truck.

“Definitely. How about this weekend?” I asked.

“I’d like that,” he said and smiled.

“I’ll see you then,” I said. I didn’t know if I should hug him. I moved toward him. He hugged me gently.

He looked at me and patted me gently on the shoulder, “I’m glad you came, Finn.”

“Me, too,” I added. “I’ll see you real soon.” I opened the door to the truck and sat down putting the key in the ignition. I turned the car on and rolled the window down.

“Drive safely,” he said. I drove away and looked in the rearview mirror. He was standing outside, watching me as I drove off.