THE MIGHTIER

A Tale of the Hatchback Woman by Dan Jire

A woman brushed her hair back behind one ear and gave a remorseful half smile. “Are you Kathy’s father?”

The man nodded as much as he could in his dress shirt and tie. He hadn’t worn it since his father’s funeral. Now he wore to it show his respect for his daughter’s friend, Jesse Johnson. But Jeff Morton had never met the boy. His daughter had kept him a secret. She’d lied to him. She said she was staying over at a friend’s house for a big project that would keep them up late every night trying to finish. It was the lie that left her bound to a wheelchair after a car struck. It killed Jesse and ran over Kathy’s legs.

Stupid punks and their techno music.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” the woman said.

“Are you one of Kathy’s teachers?”

The woman shook her head. “I’d like to speak with Kathy if that is at all possible?”

“No,” Jeff said, and he brought out his elbows like a bouncer guarding a door. Only all around him were graves and grass and a sprinkling of well-groomed trees. The woman could just as easily walk around him.

“Please, I must.”

“Not now, she has been through a lot. She was run over and her best friend has gone missing. You understand? No reporters. Please, respect my family’s privacy.”

“I’m not,” the woman said.

“Please, go.”

The woman dug into her pocket and removed a pen. “Would you give this to her? Tell her it was Melinda’s.”

“Are you a friend of the Donaldsons?”

The woman stretched her arm until the pen almost touched Jeff’s chest. He stared down his nostrils at it. Then took it.

In the second it took to look up, the woman was gone. Jeff looked across the cemetery and chills reminded him of where he stood. The funeral was over and already cars started to leave. He pocketed the pen and rejoined his wife and daughter.

It wasn’t an awkward drive home as far as Jeff was concerned. It was the exact kind of drive one would have after the funeral of a young man who never even smelt his prime years.

Rather it was a step forward, another day pushed past.

Everything would be better now, Jeff thought.

The doctors had promised after a surgery or two, Kathy would walk again. She’d never been an athlete. For now, there wasn’t much else to talk about. He couldn’t use his ‘I told you so.’ He just had to keep his mouth shut and pray his daughter’s pain wasn’t too much. Pray her mind didn’t dive into depression. He wanted his little princess back. But she was alive and that was just as good.

He helped Kathy into her wheelchair and attempted to push her into the house, but Kathy was eager to go on her own. She wheeled up the makeshift plywood ramp he’d only laid down the night before.

“It looks like it’s going to break,” Jeff’s wife Kay said.

“It’ll have to do. This weekend I’ll get some more two by fours for support underneath. She’s not going to be in it forever.”

Kay grumbled and then added, “Who was that woman? She looked familiar.”

“Huh?”

“At the funeral. She gave you something.”

“A pen or something. I think she was one of Melinda’s teachers or something.”

“A pen?”

“I guess to remember Melinda by or something,” Jeff opened the trunk. There were a few flowers they’d been sent home with, but Jeff couldn’t understand why anyone would want to keep flowers from a funeral around.

“Let me see it?”

Jeff searched the wrong pocket before finding it and handed it over.

“Weird. It’s nothing special.”

“I know, then she was gone, poof. Like a ghost or something. She had wanted to talk to Kathy maybe there’s more to it.”

“Are you going to give it to her?” Kay asked.

“Not right now.” He slammed the trunk. “Last thing she needs to do is dwell on this.”

Kay handed the pen back and grabbed two vases of flowers and headed inside. Jeff watched the plywood ramp bow beneath her steps.

Jeff needed a beer.

He went into the garage and popped open the refrigerator. His stash was down to three cans. He thought of driving out for more first, but didn’t have the patience. He sat down on a stool and downed the first one like he was a high school senior again. He removed his tie and yanked his shirt out of his pants. Underneath he was a sweaty mess.

He figured rehydration was a good enough reason to grab the second can of beer. He took it in slower this time and watched neighbors driving by without a clue of what his poor daughter had experienced in the last week.

He stared at a notepad he kept for figuring out measurements when he used his garage for more than just storing old paint cans and motor oil. He felt like he wanted to write down everything he couldn’t say to Kathy or his wife. He’d heard writing was a way of coping and venting. But he stared at it and drank.

He was out of beer before he picked up the notepad.

“Can even use my shiny new pen,” he muttered, a little more intoxicated than normal since he’d skipped breakfast and spent most of the day cutting off oxygen with a black necktie.

He stared at the page that had dimensions for a doghouse he never built for the dog he never brought home for Kathy. She hadn’t been responsible enough. It angered him and he began to write:

As a parent I’m only trying to make your life easier. I’ve been through it. I’ve made bad decisions. So, when I say something, Kathy, it’s for you own good. I’m not evil or a jerk or a Nazis. I just want to keep you from harm. But you’ve never listened. You need to listen now. That is an ORDER! I’m serious. I love you and somewhere you decided my words didn’t matter, that your mother and I were worthless and dumb old people. You forget that I was a kid and your mother was a kid. We had parents we didn’t get, too. And I wish that I had. That’s what I wish you didn’t have to say right now. I wish you didn’t have to say ‘my parents were right but I was too dumb to listen.’ But you do.

You should’ve listened.

He wrote feverishly over and over and over and over again cutting through the next couple of sheets of paper.

Kathy screamed.

The pen dropped from Jeff’s hands and hit the ground. He knelt down and picked it back up.

She screamed again and inside the house he could hear Kay trampling up the stairs asking what was wrong. Jeff couldn’t hear their conversation and he was out of beer. He knew there was probably a bottle or two in the kitchen fridge. He pocketed the pen and snuck inside.

He was in luck as there were three bottles waiting for him. He took one back with him to his recliner and turned on the television. Kay was by his side, complete with her hands on her hips and a serious look weighing down her brow and cheeks.

“Your daughter thinks you’re mad at her.”

“What?”

“She said you were screaming at her for being stupid.”

“No.” He shook his head, wanting nothing more than to go back to drinking.

“You need to go upstairs and tell her you love her. Now.”

“Babe, Kay, come on. It’s been a day. I’m off the clock.”

The look on her face was like seeing a totaled ’72 Corvette Stingray. Jeff kicked in the footrest and launched himself onto his feet.

“Did you need more beer?” Kay asked

Jeff smiled and said kindly, “Yes, if you don’t mind picking up some more.”

“Oh, I mind, sober up and get your own.” She marched into the kitchen the proud victor of a key battle in a war that never seemed to end. Jeff often wondered what spoils would be left for the victor.

Jeff knocked on his daughter’s door. The sniffling was loud enough that he should’ve stayed away. But instead, he pressed open the door and was greeted by heavy sobs.

“I messed up. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeated with a flood of mucous and tears.

Jeff sat down on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arm around his daughter’s back as she forced her face back down into her pillow.

“I should’ve listened,” she started to repeat over and over again.

“Honey, I love you.”

“But I should’ve listened to you,” she screamed and then buried her sobs deeper.

Jeff was at a loss. He knew whatever he said right then was going to be a lie, meant solely to console her. Was that bad parenting? Was that why his daughter never listened?

Her sobs stopped and she stared into Jeff’s eyes. He was the deer in the headlights unable to speak or move. It felt like she was reading his mind.

“I’m going to learn from this,” she said and then wiped her cheeks dry. Jeff leaned in and kissed her forehead.

“We both will.”

Kathy twisted around and wrapped her arms around her father. He hugged her back until his arms grew tired and he could hear Kay downstairs banging around on pots and pans.

“I should go help your mother make dinner,” he whispered.

“Okay,” she released him and matched Mona Lisa’s smile. There was no way for Jeff to be sure what his daughter was thinking. As he rose from the bed the pen poked his thigh. He quickly fished it out.

He thought for only a moment and set it down on the Kathy’s nightstand.

“You should write. Pretend you’re talking to me or your mother or your friends. Just try it. Say the things you can’t say. No one has to read it. It’s something a teacher told me a long time ago. It worked for me.”

“I’ll try.”

He ran his hand against her cheek and went downstairs. He was making dinner when he knew for sure. His daughter loved him.

THE END.