Folly, Sacrifice

I held her there. I said, This is my daughter. I called her by my name, because it was her name, too.

Everyone asked me if it was like an “Arkansas thing,” where I got knocked up by someone who is also questionably related to me, and I told them No, because I don’t remember ever getting knocked up at all. But here I have this child.

And she’s beautiful. And I love holding her and the weight of her little butt resting on my forearm. And she’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Her eyes are plaintive and wet and distant like a marble.

And I love her, and only her.

That’s what I said, all of that.

I more than willingly took all those sideways glances delivered by my favorite father and my least favorite not-mother and the only brother I look up to, even when his sad eyes unknowingly accused me.

I received many requests from a boyfriend to call the child his own.

I repeatedly informed him that the child was not a result of unfamiliar relations.

I continued to receive incredulity from his end, and more requests to call the child his own. I understood: the child is beautiful; if she weren’t mine I would want to call her mine anyway.

The child did seem to need a father. She did things that she knew she would get in trouble for not because she wanted to, but because she wanted to see whether I would discipline her like a father would, not just with angry eyes and a strong tone.

The child is the epicenter.

I declined the boyfriend’s request to call the child his own. The child is not your own. I said that.

He said, “But she needs a father. Look at her throwing everything around her milieu. She’s tired of throwing things.”

Then I said: Then she’ll become a great athlete, and her training will begin now.

Then he, to me: “If you don’t let me claim her, I’ll discipline her anyway.”

Then he deserted that idea, and later deserted me.

The child continued to be beautiful, and smiled all the time.

I made popping noises with my mouth, and she laughed and laughed and laughed. That’s what I did, and that’s all it took.

I spoke with my favorite father again, and he loved my child. Who couldn’t? She was beautiful. Beautiful temperament. Beautiful eyes.

Beautiful.

Then she was gone one day. We all cried, and our tears melted the years away until we were left with no tears and no memories.

Why did you leave me? Your eyes were so distant, I should have known you meant to join them, however far away they were.