That night, after we’re both in our pajamas and Sofia is snuggled into her sleeping bag on the floor, she says, “I’m going to try out for the play at the downtown theater next week. Marisa Nunez is doing it, too. She told me at church.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot you guys go to the same church now.”
“I want you to do it with us.”
“I don’t know.” My karate trophies sparkle in the light from the hallway. “What about karate?”
“Rehearsals start at six o’clock. You’re done with karate by then, aren’t you?”
I prop my head up. “What do you have to do for tryouts?”
“Well …” Sofia’s voice trails off and she pauses. The darkness crowds in closer. “It’s a musical. So you have to sing a song.”
I flop back onto my pillow. “Nope. No way.”
“But you used to love to sing.”
I look at my black guitar on its stand in the corner of my room. The darkness hides it, but I know there’s dust around its edges. Dad would be mad about that if he knew. I remember the first lesson he gave me.
“A guitar is an instrument, a tool, and a friend,” Dad said.
“A friend?” I giggled.
“Of course.” He leaned in close, his forehead touching mine. “You treat it right and it will treat you right.”
Mom peeked around the corner of the room. “Mothers are the same way you know.”
“All beautiful women are like that.” Dad stood up, walked over to her, and gave her a long kiss, smiling afterward.
“Ew! Gross!” I yelled.
I wish I could see that again. Not the kissing. Just the smiling.
I shake my head. “No. No singing.”
Sofia’s sleeping bag crinkles as she moves around and grumbles. “Of course not.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“You never do anything I want to do.”
There are some lies said so many times your whole body seems to understand. My fingers curl into fists. “That’s not true.”
Sofia sighs. “Whatever. I’d do karate if …”
If we could afford it. That’s what she was going to say. But Sofia tries to never talk about her family’s money problems, even though that’s exactly the sort of thing best friends are for.
“I know,” I whisper.
I can’t stand this feeling. Like there’s a giant weed growing up between us. I roll over and stare out my window. The star I wished on earlier is still out there, just barely. It hangs right above the edge of the hills. I know it’s not really a star. It’s Venus. Mom likes to point it out every time we drive home from karate. But my heart whispers something Sofia said earlier. It never hurts to try everything. Not when it’s important.
Please, I say in my head. Maybe to Venus. Maybe to God. Maybe to the air. I’m not really sure. Please bring my dad home.
Venus just winks back at me. Sofia’s breathing is soft and long, with the tiniest whistle. That’s how I know she’s asleep. I reach under my bed and pull out the orange shoebox waiting there for me. The lid slides off, all flimsy and soft from being touched too much. Inside the box is a sparkly purple pen, a bunch of notebook paper, and thirty-seven folded notes.
I started writing the notes after Dad left. Before the depression came and Dad stopped looking at me, he’d sit on the edge of my bed every night. We’d play our guitars and sing. He’d ask about my day. Sometimes, we talked so long Mom would have to order Dad out of the room.
But now he’s gone. Sometimes the words and the thoughts and the music I don’t sing anymore swirl all around my brain. And when it feels like I can’t hold them in anymore, that the words might roundhouse kick a hole straight through me, I write them down on a piece of paper, fold it up, and put it in the shoebox. Because one day Dad will come home.
He’ll want to read these letters when he does.
I take the cap off the sparkly purple pen and begin to write.
Wynken, and Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe.
I remember singing those words together. Your voice was low. Mine was high. We both sang slow so I could get my fingers set just right for each chord.
I tried singing that song to myself after you left but it sounded all wrong, and I haven’t sung anything since then.
I won’t sing without you. I can’t sing without you.
Love,
Kate