Short Story - But He Didn't By Maria Viktoria

But He Didn't

by Maria Viktoria

My father was a liar. 

Half a decade ago, he told me he would attend my high school graduation...but he didn't. No father showed up as I deliver my valedictory speech, no father told me how proud he was that I'm his daughter, no father hugged and congratulated me for achieving one of my dreams— no father of mine was there. 

He told me he would make it up by going back home on summer, but he didn't. I spent the rest of the summer with my grandmother, sewing and repairing old clothes in the morning and dreaming of my father's come back during night. And while everyone's sleeping, my silent tears were awake for they would always do the duty of staining my cheeks until I fell asleep.

He was an ocean apart from us and technology is not popular that time so our only way of communicating with each other is through letters. And a year before he left, he told me he would write. But he didn't. 

I sent hundreds of letters but I haven't received any reply apart from his last one which included the words, "I'm coming home on summer". I waited every single day for a letter, or a news, or even for a  piece of paper from him,  but there was nothing. And so, I got tired of waiting—I chose to give up on his lies. I continued my life without him—studying on mornings and working for a living on afternoons for as the letters from him stopped so was the money.

I learned how to be happy with my life, I learned how to live it without a father, but sometimes when the moon was the only one watching, I would cry to sleep for deep inside my heart, I'm still incomplete. I'm still in need of a father—my father. And as long as I didn't knew his whereabouts, it would stay that way.

It was not until I graduated college that I chose to cross the ocean that separates my world from my father's to find a decent job, when I found him. 

But still, he lied.

The day I finally met him started off pretty normal, to be honest. After being hired, I was finally going back home to get my grandmother for I'd decided that we must move into the city. The scorching heat of the untamed sun was burning my skin, the polluted air of the city burned my lungs, and the cringe-worthy smell of the nearby river filled my nose. I always read on different textbooks about how untidy this city was and I didn't believe those information (for I considered them as an exaggeration) until my body experienced the torture.

When I could stomach no more the smell coming from the river, I forced my feet to take longer strides towards the bus terminal. I felt relief engulfing my system as I finally rest my whole body on one of the bus' seats. As people started to fill in the bus, there was an old man who got on board. He was nowhere near the description of clean. His clothes were old with holes, his face had bruises, and his skin was greasy. He looked around before he spoke with a trembling voice, "Can you please...lend me money?"

With his eyes teary, he continued, "I...I just need to go home. Tomorrow's my daughter's graduation and I promised her I would come. Unfortunately, the factory I'm working was burnt down to ashes few days ago. I just need to see her. She had enough of my broken promises and I don't want to break this one. Please. I need to see her. To hug her. To tell her I love her."

As my chest throbbed with unknown emotions, he scanned the whole bus before he bowed down and sobbed. "She was an intelligent girl, and kind, and sweet, and caring, and full of positivity. My girl...she was the daughter every father would ask for."

There was silence, and no one inside the bus seemed to believe him, and so with a sigh, he got off. But before that, I caught his eyes—his brown eyes shining same as mine, and right there, I'd known it. That man was him—my father. I was sure of it.

As immediate action, I stood up and got off the bus too. I called him but he didn't look back. I kept on shouting, "Papa!" but he kept on walking towards the second bus. Nevertheless, before he could got a hold of the vehicle, I grabbed his arm. 

"Papa..." I said between ragged breath.

He frowned for a while before he spoke, "What are you talking about?"

"In the bus...a while ago...you said you had a daughter—"

With a snort he yanked away his arm. "Mind your own life, kid."

He turned his back and got inside the bus while mumbling the lie that broke my heart, "What I'd said was just a made up story. I had no daughter."

I was too stunned to move. My system shutted down as well as my senses except for my sense of hearing—it was still working for I still heard his sobs inside the second bus followed by the words, "Can you...lend me money?"

My father was a good liar...and an actor too.

Source: Maria Viktoria Follow Her @MariaViktoria