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Out of Limelight
Elan Carron |
This strange man walking into the empty funeral salon to see her was her father. His DNA was coursing through her whole being while her mother lay in serene and silent state next to her stepfather in the crowded parlor across the hall. She studied him as he approached. He was really not so strange after all, rather handsome in a quiet, dignified sort of way, not flashy like her dynamic stepdad with his athletic movie star looks.
"They told me I might find you in here," he smiled with a warmth that belied everything her mother had ever told her about him. "It does kind of remind you of one of those multiplex theatres, doesn't it?" he mused looking about at all the empty folding chairs. "Mind if I sat?"
"No."
He turned the folding chair next to hers around and straddled it from the back.
"Your mother really does look beautiful in there, Rock looks good, too, but your Mom looks exactly like I remember her when I cast her as the on-camera narrator in my little documentary about the native medicine woman of that small tribe in New Mexico who's saved so many lives."
"Rock?"
"Your stepdad. That's what they used to call him when he played linebacker on the varsity team." He laughed. "We were really quite good friends back then. We came close to being roommates, in fact. Some odd couple that would have made: The star jock who played the kind of football everyone loved to watch and the book worm who made student documentaries nobody wanted to see."
"Do you still make films?"
"I make news videos for KRJM in Medcalfe. You were really quite lucky to have the chance to go on all those expeditions and junkets with your Mom and stepfather, those wilderness trail treks, the white-water rapids trips, the sky-diving, the wild animal photo-shoots. Rock-- Robert-- was always doing fearless things. I never had a chance after she met him. No, you were really lucky to have the Mom and stepdad you did."
"I don't feel lucky now with the two of them lying side by side in there, all beautiful and handsome, asleep in their separate boxes with Bach being piped in. Why don't they crank the Beatles up loud in there, like he and Mom would have liked?"
"Doesn't really sound like a bad idea," he found himself agreeing. "Two of the Beatles have gone the way of Bach already."
"You say I'm lucky. How many girls sixteen like I am lose both parents in a snow-slide?"
"An avalanche. How many people would've dared risk that kind of danger? It's very sad, but they lived as they wanted to live. They just ran out of, well, limelight."
She did not say anything, just studied him.
"I didn't leave your Mom like she used to tell you," he stated after a somber pause of his own. "You know that, don't you?"
She nodded. "After the accident I read all of Mom's letters. Maybe I shouldn't have, but she was gone and it didn't seem to matter. Nothing has."
"I loved your mother more than any man could possibly love any woman. I just lost out, that's all. I even ceased hating Rock after a couple of years. He only fell for her like I did and he was more what she was looking for." He laughed again, without mirth, before observing, "Brains against brawn, steady versus dangerous, brawn and danger win everytime."
He stood up. "I can't stay. Have a news assignment that's been in the works for two and half weeks."
"Could I visit you sometime?"
"If your aunt says it's okay, I would like that very much. Maybe you should let her read those letters, too."
"I will."
"Thank goodness you look a lot like your Mom and only a little like me, around the eyes maybe, but they won't always be sad."
She stood up and hugged him, this sensitive, soft-spoken man, not dangerous, just steady, this strange man who was her Dad.
"They told me I might find you in here," he smiled with a warmth that belied everything her mother had ever told her about him. "It does kind of remind you of one of those multiplex theatres, doesn't it?" he mused looking about at all the empty folding chairs. "Mind if I sat?"
"No."
He turned the folding chair next to hers around and straddled it from the back.
"Your mother really does look beautiful in there, Rock looks good, too, but your Mom looks exactly like I remember her when I cast her as the on-camera narrator in my little documentary about the native medicine woman of that small tribe in New Mexico who's saved so many lives."
"Rock?"
"Your stepdad. That's what they used to call him when he played linebacker on the varsity team." He laughed. "We were really quite good friends back then. We came close to being roommates, in fact. Some odd couple that would have made: The star jock who played the kind of football everyone loved to watch and the book worm who made student documentaries nobody wanted to see."
"Do you still make films?"
"I make news videos for KRJM in Medcalfe. You were really quite lucky to have the chance to go on all those expeditions and junkets with your Mom and stepfather, those wilderness trail treks, the white-water rapids trips, the sky-diving, the wild animal photo-shoots. Rock-- Robert-- was always doing fearless things. I never had a chance after she met him. No, you were really lucky to have the Mom and stepdad you did."
"I don't feel lucky now with the two of them lying side by side in there, all beautiful and handsome, asleep in their separate boxes with Bach being piped in. Why don't they crank the Beatles up loud in there, like he and Mom would have liked?"
"Doesn't really sound like a bad idea," he found himself agreeing. "Two of the Beatles have gone the way of Bach already."
"You say I'm lucky. How many girls sixteen like I am lose both parents in a snow-slide?"
"An avalanche. How many people would've dared risk that kind of danger? It's very sad, but they lived as they wanted to live. They just ran out of, well, limelight."
She did not say anything, just studied him.
"I didn't leave your Mom like she used to tell you," he stated after a somber pause of his own. "You know that, don't you?"
She nodded. "After the accident I read all of Mom's letters. Maybe I shouldn't have, but she was gone and it didn't seem to matter. Nothing has."
"I loved your mother more than any man could possibly love any woman. I just lost out, that's all. I even ceased hating Rock after a couple of years. He only fell for her like I did and he was more what she was looking for." He laughed again, without mirth, before observing, "Brains against brawn, steady versus dangerous, brawn and danger win everytime."
He stood up. "I can't stay. Have a news assignment that's been in the works for two and half weeks."
"Could I visit you sometime?"
"If your aunt says it's okay, I would like that very much. Maybe you should let her read those letters, too."
"I will."
"Thank goodness you look a lot like your Mom and only a little like me, around the eyes maybe, but they won't always be sad."
She stood up and hugged him, this sensitive, soft-spoken man, not dangerous, just steady, this strange man who was her Dad.
