amy wong

“Die under your own terms, maybe, but I will not let you slip into oblivion easily. There are so many wonderful, horrible things I can do to make you spill those secrets, to make you bargain for a quick death. You’ll try to maintain your dignity as long as you can. I have no doubt that you’ll put up a valiant effort; you are quite strong, after all. However, you will inevitably break and curse your own stubbornness for not talking sooner.”

The school year was coming to an end and I was busying myself with spring sports. I was doing track and field, distance events like the 1,500-meter run. I also tried my hand at pole vaulting, which did not go well. I had to quit vaulting before I really hurt myself. One particularly grueling Friday at practice, I noticed Mrs. B. in the bleachers watching. Faculty often wandered out to watch teams practice or play, but Mrs. B was rarely among them. She lingered when the practice was over, so I went over to say hi. She seemed genuinely happy to see me, even though she had been quite aloof in class or in the hallway.

As quietly as she could she made her way up to the bedside and slowly sat on the bed as it took her weight. Once she was sure her dad was still deep in his sleep, she wriggled under the sheet until she was next him. As usual he was arranged like a star fish with his arms and legs out to either side. To accommodate him she curled into a ball and put herself right by his side with his arm under her head like a pillow. Like most dads she’d heard about hers slept naked, but although all the other girls who mentioned this seemed grossed out, she didn’t mind. To be fair a lot of the of the other girl’s dads weren’t as handsome as hers, or in as good shape. A few years ago, she had to put up with a few friends who couldn’t stop gushing about her dad when they came over and saw him for the first time. Although she saw all the good features about him, to her he was always just her dad. How could she think about him that way?