by James A. Jordan<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Mom said Tasha and I could have a snow day, and that we\u2019d do the things we always did on snow days. Eat pancakes with chocolate chips, watch TV in the middle of the day, drink hot cocoa. The only difference, she said, would be the snow. There hadn\u2019t been any all year. It was April now\u2014dogwood winter\u2014and it had been sunny all week. We would have to make believe, Mom said. Also, there were some errands she needed to run that would take her all day.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s not giving us a snow day,\u201d Tasha said when it was just the two of us. She was twelve and knew things. \u201cShe needs us to be here with daddy in case anything happens, and to welcome visitors.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad stayed upstairs in what had been the guest room. He was going away soon, and for the past week people had been coming to see him to say goodbye. Family friends, neighbors we called uncle and aunt, and former clients. They brought candy and kid stuff that I was too old for, told jokes I\u2019d already heard. Then Mom would take them upstairs. When they\u2019d come back down, they always said they\u2019d be praying for us. Reverend Farmer, the oldest man in town, came by the most, but he only visited with Mom.<\/p>\n
\u201cWon\u2019t the visitors be snowed in, too?\u201d I said, trying my best to make believe.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be stupid, Johnny,\u201d Tasha said. \u201cThere isn\u2019t going to be any snow.\u201d<\/p>\n
The morning of the snow day, I saw white on the dogwoods out front. Maybe snow had come after all.<\/p>\n
\u201cThose are blooms,\u201d Tasha said. \u201cLook at the ground.\u201d<\/p>\n
The grass was green and tall since Dad no longer mowed.<\/p>\n
Mom was already gone, but she\u2019d made a big plateful of pancakes. There was a snowman-shaped note. Eat as many as you want. Supper leftovers can be microwaved for lunch. Hugs and kisses and snowballs.<\/em><\/p>\n I bet Tasha I could eat more pancakes than her.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not hungry,\u201d she said after picking around on one.<\/p>\n We watched TV. To Tell the Truth<\/em>, The Price Is Right<\/em>, Maury<\/em>. I flipped over to Channel 5 to watch Sally<\/em>. The show\u2019s topic was \u201cI\u2019m Dying and My Family Doesn\u2019t Know.\u201d We decided to play in the dining room. That way we could see the driveway in case anyone drove up. We sat at the cherry table where we ate at Thanksgiving and Christmas.<\/p>\n We played Go Fish, and I won.<\/p>\n We played Sorry, and I got all my pieces home first.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is such kids\u2019 stuff,\u201d she said. \u201cLet\u2019s play a real game.\u201d<\/p>\n I pulled out the backgammon set she and Dad played on.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t know how to play this,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s for grownups.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe easiest way to learn is to play,\u201d I said, which was what Dad always said.<\/p>\n We played for a penny a game like she and Dad did. She won three games in a row and told me I owed her a nickel.<\/p>\n \u201cI gammoned you twice and that counts double,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n A baby-blue sports car pulled into our driveway and parked. A man got out. He wore a large dark-brown fur coat and a blue dress shirt that matched the color of his car. He stood in the driveway, staring at the house. Tasha and I watched him from the dining room\u2019s bay window.<\/p>\n \u201cHoly shitake, it\u2019s him,\u201d Tasha said.<\/p>\n \u201cWho?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n The man walked toward the front door, carrying a wrapped package. A square box with shiny gold wrapping paper and a big red bow.<\/p>\n \u201cHoly shitake,\u201d Tasha said again.<\/p>\n The man rang the doorbell. Tasha, using her Junior Cotillion manners, greeted him, asked for his name, and introduced herself and me.<\/p>\n \u201cJohn,\u201d the man said. \u201cLike your father.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJohnny,\u201d Tasha said. \u201cWe call him Johnny.\u201d<\/p>\n I waited for him to tell us his full name, but instead he told us he was an old friend of Dad\u2019s and happened to be passing through on his way to Atlanta. He wanted to know if now was a good time to see Dad.<\/p>\n Tasha opened the door all the way and stepped aside. She pulled me over next to her.<\/p>\n \u201cLet me take your coat, sir,\u201d Tasha said. \u201cAnd kindly please wait in the foyer.\u201d<\/p>\n The man\u2019s face was a different color than his neck. (Makeup,<\/em> Tasha mouthed when he wasn\u2019t looking.) He had bright green eyes and curly black hair. His collarbones stuck out beneath his shirt. He was not from around here. I followed him into the room. While we waited for Tasha to check on Dad, the man asked me questions\u2014my age, what grade I was in, what classes I liked, hated, did I play sports, what did I like to do. He spoke with an accent.<\/p>\n I told him I liked to draw, and when he asked what I drew, I showed him my charcoal sketches of timber wolves, smoking log cabins covered in white pastel snow, and pencil drawings of superheroes I\u2019d made up.<\/p>\n \u201cThese look just like the wolves your dad and I saw on a trip once.\u201d<\/p>\n Dad hadn\u2019t said anything about a trip when he\u2019d looked at the pictures. He\u2019d just said they looked friendly.<\/p>\n I asked the man how long he\u2019d known Dad.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, a long while now,\u201d he said. \u201cWe met before you were born.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHave you seen each other a lot since?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cOnce or twice a year,\u201d he said. \u201cI don\u2019t guess he\u2019s ever mentioned me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNever,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n He fiddled with the wrapped box in his hand. I asked what it was.<\/p>\n \u201cFor your father,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cHe needs it,\u201d I said. \u201cHe keeps giving away stuff anytime people come over.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow does he look?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry, I shouldn\u2019t ask you that.\u201d He reached out to touch me but pulled his hand back. \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019d been hearing that a lot lately\u2014grownups apologizing. When Uncle Glenn, who wasn\u2019t actually my uncle, said sorry I\u2019d asked him what for and he hadn\u2019t told me. I got the feeling this man wouldn\u2019t tell me either.<\/p>\n \u201cHe looks like he\u2019s always about to fall asleep even when he\u2019s eating,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cMom told Tasha and me he\u2019d lose his hair, but it\u2019s still there,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n The man reached in his pocket and produced a small bronze box with a heron in profile on the front. The lid shone like a penny that\u2019s been rubbed too much. He opened the box and took out two small mints. He offered one to me and popped the other in his mouth.<\/p>\n The mint made my eyes water.<\/p>\n \u201cFrom a special shop in London,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve been there?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cEvery now and then,\u201d he said. \u201cWhenever I have one of these mints, I imagine myself back there. It is raining and I hear jazz playing over speakers.\u201d<\/p>\n I closed my eyes and tried to picture this, but all I could see was the drugstore where Dad took us for burgers and shakes after doctor appointments.<\/p>\n Tasha returned. \u201cDaddy will see you now,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n The man and I followed. Before we went into the room, he turned and handed me the present.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re in this together, eh, Johnny,\u201d he said and winked.<\/p>\n Tasha took the present from me and gave it back to him.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s not what I meant. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf you want to see Daddy, you better go in now,\u201d Tasha said and opened the door.<\/p>\n The man put on the same big smile every visitor wore when entering the room. He crossed the threshold, followed by Tasha. I remained where I was. Dad was sitting up in the bed. A plastic tube ran from his nose to the green tank. Mom had said I must be careful around it because I might hurt Dad if I accidentally did something to the tube, so I tried not to go into the room unless I had to.<\/p>\n \u201cHello there, John,\u201d the man said.<\/p>\n Dad smiled, too.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d hoped,\u201d Dad said, his voice a hoarse whisper.<\/p>\n The man set the present down on the bedside table, picked up Dad\u2019s hand with both of his, cradling it as though it were something precious and fragile. I had never seen anyone hold him this way.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat have you got there?\u201d Dad said, motioning toward the present.<\/p>\n \u201cA gift, for you.\u201d The man released his hand, picked up the present, and held it out.<\/p>\n The box shook in Dad\u2019s grasp.<\/p>\n \u201cJohnny?\u201d Dad said. \u201cJohnny?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m here,\u201d I said and stepped in from the doorway.<\/p>\n \u201cHelp me with this.\u201d<\/p>\n I took the present from him and ripped off the paper to reveal a white box. I opened the lid and pulled out a small snow globe. It was a city, with one large skyscraper dominating the other nondescript buildings. Chicago<\/em> was written in bubbled letters across the bottom. A silver winding key stuck out from the globe\u2019s base. I wound it, turned the globe upside down, and set it back on the bedside table, making sure I never touched the tubes. \u201cBlue Skies\u201d played. It was a song Dad sang to us as a lullaby back when he still tucked us in.<\/p>\n Dad watched the pebbled snow fall.<\/p>\n \u201cAh yes, of course,\u201d Dad said, closing his eyes. \u201cI can see us now. All those years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n Dad opened his eyes. \u201cThat\u2019s really lovely. Thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNever saw the sun shining so bright,\u201d the man sang. His voice wobbled.<\/p>\n Dad reached out, took hold of the man\u2019s hand. \u201cKids, can we have some time, just the two of us?\u201d<\/p>\n Tasha led me out and shut the door.<\/p>\n I pressed my ear to the keyhole, but Tasha tugged at my arm.<\/p>\n \u201cCan\u2019t we stand here?\u201d I wanted to hear what the man had to say, what Dad had to say. If I stayed there, I thought, I might get some answers.<\/p>\n Tasha pulled at me, this time with force.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s none of our business, Johnny,\u201d she said, then repeated one of Mom\u2019s favorite lines. \u201cThat\u2019s something that\u2019s between them.\u201d<\/p>\n Tasha led me back to the dining room, and we resumed our game. I listened for the man\u2019s feet on the floorboards above.<\/p>\n \u201cGotcha again,\u201d Tasha said, and moved her pip onto a spot where mine had been. She put my piece on the bar where another already was. \u201cYou keep leaving yourself exposed.\u201d<\/p>\n I imagined sitting with the man in his baby-blue car and him cradling my hand the way he had Dad\u2019s.<\/p>\n \u201cYou can\u2019t move until you\u2019re off the bar,\u201d Tasha said.<\/p>\n Never saw the sun shining so bright,<\/em> the man sang. Never saw things going so right.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cAre you even paying attention?\u201d Tasha said.<\/p>\n Sunlight through the windows made my stomach-sick, so I shifted so I was in the shade, where it remained cold. Outside, the dogwood flowers glowed.<\/p>\n When the man came down, he carried one of Dad\u2019s blue-checkered handkerchiefs and the old cedarwood box that always stayed locked.<\/p>\n The man lingered in the hall. He used Dad\u2019s handkerchief to wipe his eyes then faced us.<\/p>\n \u201cThere now,\u201d he said, and offered the same weak smile that every visitor gave after seeing Dad. \u201cThat\u2019s that.\u201d<\/p>\n Tasha rose, asked if the man wanted a glass of water or sweet tea.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you, no. I\u2019m supposed to be in Atlanta by eight, and I\u2019m already going to be pushing it. Best to leave now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d Tasha said, then told me to go get the fur coat.<\/p>\n I fetched it. The coat smelled of peppermint and cigarettes. I wanted to wrap myself up in it, but I held the coat out like Dad used to for Mom.<\/p>\n \u201cQuite the young gentleman,\u201d he said. He held his hand out to Tasha. \u201cIt was nice to meet you. Thanks for sneaking me in.\u201d<\/p>\n Tasha kept her hands to her side. \u201cI hope you get to Atlanta on time,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cYes, yes,\u201d the man said. \u201cThank you for your kindness.\u201d<\/p>\n I walked the man to his car. He placed Dad\u2019s box in the front seat and turned back to me.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you for the snow,\u201d I said. \u201cEven if it\u2019s fake, I\u2019m glad he got to see some before he goes.\u201d<\/p>\n His eyes glittered. I thought he might ask me if I wanted to go for a ride, but he held out the brass mint box instead.<\/p>\n \u201cWould you like?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n I held out my hand, expecting another mint. He placed the whole box there.<\/p>\n \u201cSometimes I make believe that I\u2019m a good person,\u201d he said. \u201cWhen you look at this, I hope you will, too.\u201d<\/p>\n I thanked him and asked when we would see him again.<\/p>\n He shrugged. \u201cOnly fools prospect the future.\u201d<\/p>\n He got in his car, turned the engine, and drove away.<\/p>\n I took a mint from the pillbox, popped it in my mouth. My eyes didn\u2019t start watering until I could no longer see the car.<\/p>\n I turned toward the house. Tasha stood at the dining room window.<\/p>\n \u201cYou can never tell Mom about this,\u201d she said when I came back inside.<\/p>\n \u201cAbout what?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cAbout him.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy?\u201d Mom liked to keep a list of everyone who had come to visit.<\/p>\n Tasha looked at me like one who had the answers. She looked tired.<\/p>\n \u201cJust promise,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cI promise,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cPinky swear?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPinky swear.\u201d<\/p>\n Dad\u2019s bell rang from upstairs, and Tasha turned toward the stairwell.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll go,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n I thought she would tell me no, but Tasha just sat back down at the table. I took the stairs two at a time.<\/p>\n Dad faced the door. His eyes were milky.<\/p>\n \u201cDaddy?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n He motioned for me to come closer.<\/p>\n I sat beside him on the bed. The room beeped and rasped in the silence. I wanted to know my father\u2014who he was, who he had been, the places he\u2019d visited: Chicago, the man. I thought about him seeing the wolves, and I wondered what all he\u2019d seen that I hadn\u2019t. What I would see that he never would.<\/p>\n I cradled his hand the way the man had. It was cold, so I blew into it and rubbed it with my hands.<\/p>\n Dad smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t even imagine what happiness lies ahead for you,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cYes, sir,\u201d I said, because I didn\u2019t know what else to say.<\/p>\n \u201cI wish I had.\u201d He stopped, and there was silence in the room for a few seconds. \u201cBut I was afraid. Don\u2019t be afraid to dream.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI won\u2019t be afraid, Daddy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPromise me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPinky swear.\u201d<\/p>\n He asked me to flip the snow globe and to wind the song up again.<\/p>\n The music played. The fake snow fell.<\/p>\n \u201cChicago,\u201d he said. \u201cBack then I was another man.\u201d<\/p>\n He closed his eyes, and I thought he was asleep, but when I moved to get up from the bed he spoke.<\/p>\n \u201cTake it,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ll need it where you\u2019re going.\u201d<\/p>\n I thanked him and kissed his stubble. His milky eyes stared back.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you for making the effort to come see me,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m always thinking of you. I\u2019m always missing\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n I waited, but he said nothing more. His eyes closed, his chest rose and fell. He began to snore.<\/p>\n I walked Indian style out of the room, rolling each step, pulled the door to, then moved down the stairs without making a sound.<\/p>\n Tasha sat hunched over the dining room table. I set the globe on the table between us.<\/p>\n \u201cI know where he\u2019s going,\u201d I said. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to pretend about it with me any longer.\u201d<\/p>\n Tasha started to speak then stopped. She was always protecting someone, but I didn\u2019t know who she was protecting this time\u2014Dad or me or her. She picked up the globe, wound the song up, and motioned toward the backgammon board. It was my roll, she said, and she was getting tired of waiting. James A. Jordan\u2019s previous work has appeared in The Bitter Southerner, Carve, Fugue, The Greensboro Review, New South, Quarterly West, The Saturday Evening Post Onlin<\/em>e, and The Trinity Review<\/em> among others. He received his MFA from the Creative Writing Workshop at the University of New Orleans and his PhD from Georgia State University. He currently serves as a Postdoctoral Fellow at Auburn University.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI\u2019m sick of watching TV,\u201d Tasha said. \u201cLet\u2019s play a game instead.\u201d<\/p>\n
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