I’ve forgotten how, for a large part. But I don’t really need to know.
I know enough. I know why. It was all to be here again with them.
With my father, who I barely remember. With his friend, who I knew once, a long time ago. He and I had our differences but now we meet again.
Things ain’t quite right between any of us, in all of our own little ways.
I didn’t want to care about Abo, I only wanted to meet my father. But it’s all three of us now, whether I care or not.
Father isn’t quite right. He sacrificed alot for me to come here. It’s nothing I asked for. But it’s a hell of a thing, something that only comes once in a lifetime. Or an aeon. Whatever the difference may be in our case.
Father isn’t quite right. I worried it might be this way. But he seems to recognize me. I hoped he might.
Abo pipes up. “We meet again.”
Not that I have any reason to be so uncertain, but I’m not sure which ones of us he’s referring to specifically.
Come on, Tanta, have a little more trust in others.
I say, I’m not the same. Neither are you.
He still has those demon eyes that used to terrify me, but they don’t any more.
Father looks at him. What’s happened between me and Abo? He can probably guess. If he was unimpaired, he could probably guess. Somewhere deep down he understands. If not, he wouldn’t be here, with me.
I’ll help him. Isn’t that what a good daughter would do?
We have work to do. We need to save the universe. I hope Abo and I can agree on that, at least.
“We didn’t see eye to eye when we last spoke, did we?” Abo says.
I almost broke your face, I say.
“I’ve healed,” he says.
He’s had time to heal, alright. And for the first time, I realize that, in spite of everything, I haven’t dwelled on him in the way I always used to. I was never good at pulling off stuff like that. Looks like I’ve had time to heal, too.
We have work to do. Does father understand? Abo and I both look at him. The two of us are on the same page, I think, at least.
Abo says, “have you seen what I’ve seen, on your way here?”
He knows I haven’t. He just wants to see what I say.
Or, maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he’s being sincere, but he just doesn’t know how to put it into words.
Come on, T, have a little more trust in others. Not that you ever did. But now wouldn’t be a bad time to start.
Hey, dad.
He looks at me. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who ever called him that, a long time ago. I’m also pretty sure that it was a much, much longer time ago for him than it’s been for me. For many reasons.
This whole thing may be a bit much for him. I feel like Abo understands this. I picked a hell of a day to start trusting people.
Say something, dad. How has it all been? Did I do good? Did you see me? Aren’t you glad to see me now?
Even before I see the pained look on his face, I can tell he doesn’t know how to answer. He set this whole thing in motion, but all the motion has made him too old. I always thought about this day, since I was a kid. Didn’t know how to think about it back then. But as I got older, I eventually understood that it would be like this, that not as happy and fulfilling I’d wanted it to be.
I understood now. Why did I understand now? I was never really the type to do that. I hadn’t had many friends, but I’d had one really good one. And she sure was the type to help me understand that.
What do you say, Dad?
Is it ok that I’m calling him that?
Suddenly, he pipes up. “Nothing I haven’t said before.” He smiles.
I understand. I smile back.
Nice little moment were having here, but it’s time to go to work. We have alot of lives to save.
When your father gets too old, but there’s still unfinished business. Some really, really serious unfinished business. That may involve alot of other little girls and alot of other confused fathers. And alot of other friends who those daughters may or may not wish were there to deal. Ideally, a daughter’s gotta do now what her father once did for her.
He wasn’t always…around. Not in the conventional sense. But dad did so much. And not just for me.
This is all so extraordinary. After all, we are exceptional, as someone once told me.
And then, I realize, that someone was him. In a different form. He told me that. A long time ago. In a way. He wasn’t really there for me. But that message got through. He did so much important work so long ago. And somehow he didn’t forget me. If he had, I wouldn’t be here.
We’ve got work to do. Hard work. The kind of work that, if dad were unimpaired, he’d be holding back a certain look that he wouldn’t want me to see. To keep morale up.
Dad’s not quite right, but I still don’t see that look. Not because he’s holding back, but because he trusts me. I barely remember the guy. And he really trusts me.
Thanks, Abo, for letting us have this little moment. You’ve really changed.
“Not too much, I hope,” he says.
Yeah. Me too.
Now, I’m of age. If ever there was a time to start behaving mature, this is it. It’s not going to be easy for any of us, but my unease is mine only. I have to be a grown up for my father.
And just as my unease starts to stick my feet to the floor so I’m not sure what to do next, Dad turns.
“We’ve got work to do,” he says.
Him saying that, that’s a real good start.
Then let’s get to work.
