Charade

Vic

"Lily, time for school," I said, knocking on her door.

No response.

"Lily?" I tried again, knocking louder.

I heard her groan, then the creak of her bed.

"I don't wanna go to school." She muttered.

"Why? Are you feeling sick? Should I ask the doctor for more nausea pills?"

"No!" She snapped. "I just don't wanna go to fucking school."

"Lily," I sighed, the exhaustion weighing in my voice. "We've talked about this. Your education is important. We need to try and keep it up, even if you are sick – "

"Why?!" She screamed as the door burst open and she stormed past me, almost knocking me off my feet. "It's not like I'm going to live long enough to use it!"

I stood there silently, watching her back as she went to the kitchen. The words cut deeper than a knife, slicing at my insides, making me want to break down into a messy heap on the floor. It reminded me once again of everything my baby would miss out on if I didn't save her.

"Lily, please – "

"Just forget it!" She yelled, carrying her cup of coffee into her room.

"Lily, I – "

But it was too late. She slammed the door.

I paused for a long moment, unsure what to do with myself. I leaned my head against the wooden door, eyes closed, trying to dig up some inner strength that wasn't there. Why? I won't live long enough to use it. The words echoed endlessly in my head, like an alarm that couldn't be switched off.

I wanted to hit something, to throw something. I wanted to smash the windows and kick down the doors, set the place on fire and watch it burn, anything to let out what had grown inside me. But I didn't, because I couldn't. Sometimes I believed that Lily blamed me for her sickness, like she believed that if I'd been a better father, if I'd stayed with her mother, that she would be healthy and happy. She'd never said the words, but I saw it in her eyes every time she looked at me.

A small sob caught in my throat and a tear fell off the tip of my eyelid. Everything I kept just beneath the surface began to well up in my eyes and throat, as I felt all that anger simmer down to hopelessness. It took me a moment to realize that perhaps my daughter was listening. I immediately snapped to attention and shoved down every emotion – all the fear and the pain and anger – until I couldn't feel them anymore. Forget about them. Don't let them get in your way. Be a good father.

"Please get ready for school, Lily. I won't ask again." I said, voice quiet.

In the hour that followed, I showered, dressed, and had a few cups of coffee. The newspaper was quite ordinary, with nothing interesting to share, as was the case most days. I flipped through a few times before giving up and sitting down to watch a morning news show. I leaned back in the recliner and felt my eyes droop closed.

Just as I was about to doze off, Lily's door swung open in the abrupt fashion it usually did. Lily was about as gentle and subtle as a stampeding bull, which is what kept me awake most days. To my surprise, she was dressed in uniform, though her shirt was untucked and her socks were uneven. She went into the bathroom, leaving the door open, and put a suitcase of stuff into the bathroom sink. It was a pretty clear box, though I was too far away to see what was inside. One at a time, she took out various powders and creams and eye-pencils. Her hands were covered charcoal, like soot in a fireplace, from her artwork. She wore nothing over her bald head, which was the biggest surprise, considering she never let anyone see what she looked like under her bandana.

I looked at the clock. We had ten minutes to be at the school, but I didn't want to disturb her. She'd cut my head off if I interrupted her. Instead I watched the long tedious procedure, wondering where she learned to use so much makeup and how anyone could memorise the long, long order of the lotions and powders and lipstick.

When she was finished, she moved her head back and forth, examining her face, and then looked up at her bald head. I saw her top lip twitch in disgust and knew automatically how much she hated the way she looked. I tried to shove that emotion down too, but it just kept springing back up.

Then, she washed her hands in the sink, stepped out of the bathroom, glanced at me, and went inside her room again. I looked away automatically, not wanting to fan the fire. I just wanted her to finish getting ready, no matter how long it took, so I could drop her off at school and pretend that I didn't feel like a failure as a father because my daughter was so insecure as to think she needed three inches of makeup to feel like she mattered.

When she emerged from her room, the door was shut instantly, and there on top of what used to be Lily's bald head was a wig. Long, flowing brown hair tumbled down in luscious waves over her shoulders and back. My breath caught in my throat when I saw her with that hair, so close to her natural colour. It reminded me too much of the Lily I used to know, the one that was bright and happy and could talk your ears off if you let her. It reminded me of the times before she became so secretive, so closed-off, and I felt a terrible ache in the hollow of my heart.

When Lily emerged from the bathroom again, having the makeup and the wig fixed to her liking, she came and stood to my left, her bag slung over her shoulder.

"Ready to go?" She asked.

I was staring, and I didn't even realize it until Lily darted her eyes and shifted her weight uncomfortably.

"Uh, yeah." I said, fumbling over my words as I tried to contain my shock.

She looked older, as old as sixteen, and the makeup had made her skin look healthy again, even if her neck, arms, and knees were still pale as a sheet of paper. The wig looked natural and right, like it could be her real hair, which added to the healthy look. Yes, she looked beautiful, but at the same time, it wasn't right. Beauty like that seemed unreal on my little girl, like she was dressed up in one of the many Halloween costumes she once had. She no longer looked like my daughter, which was ironic considering she no longer acted like her either.

In the car, it was silent. The rain had cleared up overnight, leaving several gloomy puddles in its wake. This August, the rain came in buckets, leaving flooded gutters and grey skies rather than the light sprinkle that came most years.

Lily sat in the back seat, watching the grey world outside. Her shirt was still untucked, socks still uneven. I wanted to fix them for her or at least tell her to fix them herself before she went into school, but knew it would end in an argument. Being around Lily was like being around a time bomb. You never knew what would set her off. A word, a phrase, even a look was enough for her to explode.

I put the car into first gear and slowed down outside the school. Just as I put it into park, I said:

"Have a good day, Li – "

But Lily had already jumped out of the car and slammed the door in my face, not wanting to hear anything more from me. I closed my mouth and swallowed down my emotions, then watched her walk all the way into school, with her shirt untucked and socks still uneven, until I could no longer see her.

© A.G. Travers 2015