Page 128 of Resurrection
Right before he takes off, he reaches out and brushes a stray hair from my cheek. It's the lightest touch, but it sears. I feel it long after he pulls his hand away, long after he’s gone.
Dad is everywhere.
In the boxes and albums, in the pictures we took but can’t remember, and the ones we remember but never took. The past spreads around me like a map, waiting for directions. I sit cross-legged on the floor, dipping my hand into our history, pulling out pieces of him. Each photo is a weight, a memory, a strange fragment of forever. A letter never sent, the taste of Sunday breakfast, a soft childhood afternoon.
Mom is next to me, her eyes warm, her tea cold. Her smile is sad, the kind that makes the years rewind.
She hands me another photo of Dad, and I see the joy in his face, the same joy that followed him through every second of every day. His birthday during my last year in high school, his hands covered in flour. The light wraps around him, soft and familiar, binding us to these moments.
I set the photo aside to theYespile and reach for another.
"Did I ever tell you about this one?" I ask, holding up a picture of him on our last camping trip.
Her smile crinkles. "Only about a thousand times."
I laugh, my fingers tracing his outline. "He tried to cook beans over the fire and burned them all. Can you imagine? Dad burning something?"
"Worst meal you ever had,mija."
"I still liked it better than anything from the school cafeteria."
She chuckles and passes me more photos, more pieces of our family. I look through them, sifting through the years. There he is at my graduation, his eyes filled with pride and the dreams he had for me. There he is again, guiding my hands as I learn to cook. His spirit lingers in every corner, every shadow of these snapshots. I feel the loss like a breath I can't release.
This was meant to be a solemn task of selecting a photo for his memorial service, yet here we are, spiraling down the endless corridors of our memories. Each image drags us deeper into an overwhelming torrent of nostalgia, with no end to this journey in sight.
"Here," Mom says, lifting another picture from the pile. She holds it gently, her fingers careful with its edges. "I think you’ll like this one."
It's me and Ty at prom, his arm draped around my shoulder, our smiles young and unaware. I’m wearing that silver dress and blue shoes with the matching corsage he gave me. He’s in a tux, looking handsome despite his lanky frame. The colors have faded, but the emotions are still vivid.
Mom gives me a knowing look. "I always thought you’d marry that boy."
I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "I thought so too," I admit. "Before he left."
We share a beat of silence, the air thick with the weight of what might have been. Her tea beside her is forgotten.
She shifts closer. "He is a good kid," she says.
"But he's the same kid who abandoned me, Mom." The words come out uncertain, like I’m trying to convince myself of the opposite.
"Is he?" Her eyes are full of questions, the kind that dig into your heart. "He’s been in town for a long time now. I think that tells you something."
"I don’t know." I shrug, frustration edging my voice. "He showed up when I least expected him to, and who knows what happens next…" I trail off, my thoughts a jumble of hopes and fears.
"Sometimes, we don't make the best decisions when we're this young,mija."
"Don't find excuses for him."
"You believe he’ll leave again?"
"I hope not. And I hope not like last time."
Mom touches my arm, a gentle nudge. "You think I don’t know he’s been coming around your work or that he stayed at your place? Your brother was just here venting the other day."
My cheeks heat up. Of course. Small town. News travels. No matter how hard Ty and I have been trying to keep our romance a secret, people talk. And Adri… He’s the most disloyal sibling ever.
"Why do I even have a brother?" I sigh, exasperatedly. "All he does is act like a pain in the butt."
Mom smiles. "Reminds me of someone else I know."
