Pa

“Nounou, how do you do this?” he asks.  I turn, “Can I watch this part before I show you?”
“Ok, I’ll wait,” he answers in a calm voice. 1

The best Saturday night movie was showing, but he wanted me to teach him the technique I used to keep my feet on the ground while doing my sit ups. I would have run to show him and done everything he had asked me to do that night if only I knew.2

A few minutes pass by before I actually get up to show him my famous technique.
“Ok, so you put your feet under this bar over there and you lift your body. That’s it.”
“Oh”; he tries. “It hurts my feet!”
“Huh, ok, let me show you”.
I sit on the floor and position my feet in the proper way.
He looks, and then says “Oh ok. I get it.” I look at him try it once more and it seems like he can do it without hurting himself. I am so glad I can finally go back to my movie. 3

To remember that I thought a movie was more important than being with him pains me until this day. I had been so impatient, so distracted, but my only excuse is that I was still a selfish teenager. I was fifteen and the last thing I wanted was to be “bothered” by him. 4

One hour later5

“Hey nounou,” he says. I grunt, “Yeah?”
“What are you watching? What is it about?”
He stands behind me waiting for my answer. I do not answer him. He touches my forgetful shoulder to remind me to answer him.
“Alright, so…” I proceed to tell him the plot of the movie without missing any details. It must have been too detailed, because after my narrative, he seems to have completely lost interest in the subject of the movie. A few more minutes pass by before he decides to go to bed.6

Today, I cannot remember the title of the movie, but I know that I hate it. I hate it because it kept me from spending a few more precious minutes with him. 7

I wish I had not ignored him that night. I wish I had hugged him longer when saying good night. I wish I had made him smile that Saturday. I wish I had been there for him, if only for a few more seconds. But what I mostly wish for is for that Sunday not to have existed.8


Sunday
He wakes me up that morning.
“Nounou, voici les clefs. On revient bientôt (1)”
A kiss.
“Go back to sleep.”
One last kiss.
I am not awake to fully feel that kiss barely touching my cheek.
I take the keys and go right back to sleep. I do not remember him leaving. 9

I wake up later that morning thinking about a gift for him. I think about writing him a letter to tell him my love and to ask for an apology. I had not been very loving the last few weeks and I feel guilty for that. I think about going to the neighborhood boutik (2) to get him a bottle of coca-cola. He liked drinking coke. I do not have much money to get him anything big and he knows that, so I think he will love my gift. 10

Back when I was still living in Haiti, I hated Sundays. Such a simple task as hand washing my undergarments and making my own breakfast at that time seemed like a burden to me. My mother insisted on making all of her children wash their own undergarments on the weekends. I preferred to do my chores on Sundays. There was usually nothing to do on Sundays so I knew I would not be missing anything.11

That Sunday, sitting on a low chair in the middle of my bathroom, I am still thinking about the perfect gift for him. I do not want to disappoint him. I know how much he loved it when I wrote him letters. Those letters came every year on that particular Sunday. While still in deep thought, I am suddenly brought back to my surroundings by someone shouting my name.
“Rachel! Rachel!!!”
That person was in the backyard and his voice made it seem like he was in a hurry. I run to the kitchen window to see who it was. I do know that guy calling me, but I know he lives in my neighborhood. I am immediately alarmed by the tone of his voice and by his bewildered look. Why was he shouting? I have to answer.
“Yes, I’m in here.”
“Vini’m palew (3), I have something to tell you!”
Before that day, he never had anything to tell me because we were not friends. I sense that it is important, so I open the door to hear what he has to say.
“Your parents and Cyprien got into an accident,” he tells me.
I am not sure of what he means so I simply ask “What do you mean?”
“They got into a little accident. Nothing bad, they went to the hospital because he was bleeding.”
I assume it is a car accident.
“Are you sure they’re ok?”
“Yeah, they’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t worry, ok?”
“Ok.”12

This information could not have been processed any slower than at that moment. I was thinking “Well, he did tell me that everything was fine and that I had nothing to worry about. So what if one person was a little bit hurt? People get hurt all the time and they always get better. Of course everything is fine. God would not let anything really bad happen to any of them. Of course, everything is fine. What if someone was dead? Yeah right, nothing this horrible could have happened.” 13

After he leaves, I go back to the bathroom and I put my hands back in the water. They are not moving. Why wasn’t I trying to finish my task? The guy did say that they were all well. Of course they are. God would not let any of them die. I need to calm down, I must think about the letter. How would I start it? Happy Father’s Day or I love you?14

A few minutes later15

I hear a commotion. I see my mother. A scream. I see my aunt. A scream. I see faces I have never seen before. A scream. I run to my mother, she looks destroyed. I cannot talk. Everything is happening so fast. I am inside the house holding my mother, hugging her tightly. I still haven’t said a word.
“Did you hear what happened to your father? Did you hear what they did to him? Did you? Eske ou tande pitit mwen (4)?” She is shouting these things between sobs. I am still holding on to her and my face is cupped in her hands. They are freezing cold. I can feel how angry and deeply hurt she is. I can not say anything. I want to say, “I did not hear anything mom. I did not know. I do not want to know mom. Please don’t tell me manmy." But nothing comes out of my mouth.16

I feel like I am getting closer to the black hole inside of me. Nothing but “Pa” comes out of my mouth before I finally give up, and let myself get sucked deep into that abyss. It was safe there. I could not hear or feel anything from that moment forward. 17

I called my father Pa and he called me Nounou. After that day not another soul ever called me Nounou. Still today, I feel that there are many things that were left undone and many words left unsaid. Father’s Day no longer means much to me. The way I remember that Sunday is not as Father’s Day but as the day my father was brutally taken away from me. 18

Fin19

1- Here are the keys. We’ll be back soon.
2- Neighborhood bazaar in Haiti
3- Come here
4- Did you hear, my baby?