Sentilong Ozukum
Five year old Rose climbed into her father’s lap. “Did you have enough to eat?” he asked her. She smiled and patted her tummy, “I can’t eat more” “Look papa’s very tired. Let’s go to bed early tonight. After all tomorrow is Christmas.” Rose put her little fingers on the side of her face. “But papa, this is Christmas Eve. You said we could dance.” Joe feigned a poor memory. “Did I? Well, I don’t remember saying anything about dancing.” “But papa, we always dance on Christmas Eve. Just you and me, remember?”
A smile burst from beneath his thick mustache, “Of course I remember darling. How could papa forget?” And with that he stood and took her hand and for a moment, just a moment, his wife was alive again, and the two were walking to spend another night before Christmas as they had spend so many, dancing away the evening. They would have danced the rest of their lives but then came the surprise pregnancy and the complications. Rose survived. But her mother did not. And Joe was left to raise Rose alone. “Common papa”. Rose tugged on his hand. “Let’s dance before everyone arrives” She was right. Soon the door bell would ring and the relatives would fill the floor and the night would be past. But for now it was just papa and Rose.
As years passed Little Rose grew into a beautiful woman and slowly rebellion flew into Joe’s world. About the time Rose was old enough to drive, she decided she was old enough to lead her life and that life did into include her father. “I should have seen it coming” Joe would always mumble. He didn’t know what to do. He did not know how to handle the pierced nose and the tight skirts. He didn’t understand late nights and poor grades. And most of all, he didn’t know when to speak and when to be quiet. Rose on the other hand had figured everything out. She knew when to speak to her father-Never. She knew when to be quiet-Always. And then came the lanky, tattooed kid from down the street. And there was no way Joe was going to allow his daughter to spend Christmas eve with that kid.
“You’ll be with us young lady, this Christmas. You’ll be with us eating Grandma’s pie. You’ll be with us on Christmas Eve.” Joe tried in vain.
After dinner came the relatives. As the room filled with noise and people, Joe stayed on one side and Rose sat sullenly on the other. “Put on the music, Joe” reminded one his brothers. And so he did. Thinking she would be honored, he turned and walked towards his daughter. “Will you dance with your papa tonight? The way she snuffed and turned, you’d have thought, he insulted her. In full view of the family, she walked out of the front door and marched down the sidewalk leaving her father alone, very much alone. Rose came back that night but not for long. Joe never faulted her for leaving. After all, what’s it like being the daughter of a single parent. In the last days, Joe tried so hard. He made her favorite dinner-she didn’t want to eat. He invited her to a movie- she stayed in her room. He brought her a new dress-She didn’t even thank him.
One day Joe left work early to be at home when Rose would arrive home from school. Wouldn’t you know that was the day she never came back home. A friend saw her and her boyfriend in the vicinity of the bus station. The authorities confirmed the purchase of a ticket to Chicago.
The kid with the tattoos had a cousin. The cousin worked the night shift at a store. For a few bucks, he would let the runaways stay in his apartment at night, but they had to be out during the day. They had big plans. He was going to be a mechanic and Rose just knew she would get a job at a departmental store. Of course he knew nothing about cars and she knew even less about getting a job-but you don’t think of things like that when you are intoxicating on freedom.
After a couple of weeks, the cousin changed his mind. And the day he announced his decision, the boyfriend announced his. Rose found herself facing the night with no place to sleep and no hand to hold. It was the beginning of many such nights. A woman in the park told her about the homeless shelter near the bridge. For a couple of bucks she would get a bowl of soup and a cot. A couple of bucks were all she had. The room was rowdy and it was hard to sleep. She turned her face to the wall and for the first time in several days, thought about the whiskered face of her father as he would kiss her good night. But as her eyes watered, she refused to cry. She pushed the memory deep inside and determined not to think about home. She’d gone too far to go back.
The next morning the girl in the cot beside her showed her a fistful of tips she’d made from dancing tables. “This is the last night I’ll have to be here”. She said, “Now I can pay for my own place. They told me they are looking for another girl. You should come by”. She reached into her pocket and gave her the address. Rose’s stomach turned at the thought. All she could do was mumble, “I’ll think about it”.
She spent the rest of the week on the streets looking for work. At the end of the week when it came to pay her bill at the shelter, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the address. It was all she had left. “I won’t be staying tonight” she said and walked out of the door.
Hunger has a way of softening convictions. If Rose knew anything, she knew how to dance. Her father had taught her. She simply did her work and took the dollars. She might have never thought about it, except for the letters. The cousin brought them. Not one, in two but in boxes. All addressed to her from her father. “Your boyfriend might have given the address to your father. They come two or three in a week” complained the cousin. “Give him your address”
But she could not do that. He might find her. Nor could she bear to open the envelops. She knew what they said-He wanted her home. It seemed less painful not to read them. So she didn’t. Not that week nor the next when the cousin brought more, nor the next when he came again. She ran her fingers at the top of each letter but could not bring herself to open one. Days passed and thoughts of home and thoughts of shame were showed into her heart. In time the leaves fell and the air chilled. The mail came again and the cousin complained and the stack of letters grew. Still she refused to send him her address and she refused to read a letter. Then a few days before Christmas Eve another letter arrived. Same color, same shape, But this one had no postage on it. It was lying on her dressing room table.
“A couple of days ago, a man stopped by and asked me to give this to you” explained one of the dancers, “Said you’d understand the message”. “He was here!” she whispered to herself. Rose swallowed hard and looked at the envelope. She opened it and removed the card. It read- “I know where you are. I know what you do This does not change the way I feel. What I’ve said in each letter is still true”. Rose pulled a letter from the top of the stack and read it. Then a second and a third each sentence asked the same question. In a matter of moments the floor was littered with paper and her face was streaked with tears. Within an hour she was on the bus “I just might make it in time”.
The relatives were starting to leave. Joe was helping grandma in the kitchen when his brother called from the suddenly quiet room. “Joe, someone’s here to see you”. Joe stepped out of the kitchen and stopped. In one hand the girl held a backpack. In the other she held a card. Joe saw the question in her eyes.
“The answer is yes” she said to her father. “If the invitation is still good, the answer is yes”. Joe swallowed hard. “Oh my, the invitation is good”. And so the two danced again on Christmas Eve. On the floor, near the door, rested a letter with Rose’s name and her father’s request.
“Will You Come Home And Dance With Your Papa Again?”
