Page 33 of Five Summers

“Did he ever try to make contact?”

“Yes.” She swallows, then lets go of my hand.

Bending down, she searches for something under her bed. Then, she pulls out a round lid box as she settles back on her heels. Opening the lid reveals a collection of photographs, birthday cards, and scraps of paper adorned with music lyrics. There are guitar picks and sheeted music, all remnants of her past life. Each tiny treasure holds a story, a precious moment frozen in time. With a sad smile, she rummages through the box.

She grabs a photo and hands it to me. It’s a younger version of Poppy, around five or six, sitting in her father’s lap. He bears a striking resemblance to her, with his blonde hair and similar features. His arms surround her, embracing her with love and protection as he teaches her how to play the guitar. The radiant smiles on their faces unveil the undeniable bond they share.

But what truly stands out to me in the photo is the guitar. It's the same one I spotted when I walked into the room.

Amidst the assortment of memories, Poppy grabs a birthday card and holds it out for me to take.

“I haven’t heard from him since he sent this. I wouldn’t have even known he sent anything if I hadn’t found it in the trash can. Honestly, I thought he had forgotten my birthday, but my mom kept it from me. I got really mad at her for trying to keep it a secret. The following year, I didn’t hear from him at all. I’m not sure if he forgot to send it or if my mom just threw it away.”

I open the birthday card and read the message written inside.

To my beautiful Princess,

Hope you have a magnificent day!

I wish I could be there with you today, but I can't because the band has picked up a few gigs.

I hope you like the package I sent.

I'll see you soon, I promise.

Keep playing that song we worked on and promise to keep doing what you love.

I love you more than anything in this world.

Never forget that. And never forget how special you are.

Love you, Princess, with all my heart and I'll see you soon.

Love always,

Dad

His words bring a smile to my face as I read them, feeling the warmth and love behind them.

I can't help but notice that he refers to her as "Princess" as well. Is that the real reason why she was so mad at me when I first called her that? Her dad used it as a term of endearment, but I use it to call her a spoilt brat.

I hand her the card, observing the way her face transforms into a smile as she opens it, savoring every word written on the page. With utmost care, she returns it to its cherished spot inside the memory box. With a gentle sigh, she closes the lid, then slides the box beneath her bed, the weight of the world hidden away once more.

“What was the gift your dad mentioned?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me.

“I do not know. I never got it. My mom refuses to tell me what she did with it.”

I stay silent for a moment as she stands and settles herself on the bed beside me. Standing up, I grab the handful of vinyls and walk back over to return them to the shelf.

“So what song were you and your dad practicing?” I ask while placing the records back onto the shelf.

“It was just something he was working on back then. While he played the guitar, I was on the keyboard.”

There is something about this side of Poppy that pulls me in without hesitation. Listening to her sharp tongue and clever comebacks is something I truly enjoy. But recently, now that I've had the chance to witness her vulnerable side, I feel a deeper connection with her. As a means of self-protection, she pushes people away, guarding herself from the pain she once felt when her father left. I can relate. I’ve never been the same after my mom passed away and my dad turned against me.

“Did you keep practicing?” I plop back onto the bed.

“Yeah, I did, but it was a total waste of time because he never came back.”

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