That Day

The sound of pain echoed in his mind. It was a small car and the radio was on but over the forgettable pop music of 2005 was the unmistakable stifled quiet sobbing. "So this is how sorrow sounds like." The lights turned red in the distance just before the entrance of the freeway. He rolled the car to a stop, tormented over if he should turn to look at his daughter. There was so much he wanted to do but he couldn't. He knew why she would react like this and the difference between knowing and seeing was exactly how he expected - gut wrenching and visceral. He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay, that this maybe shouldn't hurt as bad as it should but he also knew that those two choices would be thrown right back at his face. He just didn't know what to say to ease her pain. As a young man he knew this day would one day come, where something would happen which would totally destroy his little girl and there's nothing he can do but watch as she struggles not to completely fall apart.

A sigh. The lights are going to change soon. He would have to drive on the freeway, eyes straight ahead and mind occupied. With that, a father's instinct overwhelmed and he turned.

Her headphones was on and she was looking far into the distance, away from him. There was nothing he can say that she could listen. A brief false relief. Suddenly her body twitched. And then again. And once more.

Her heartache became his heartbreak.

If he gets rejected, so be it. He reached out and tenderly placed his hand on her shoulder. She stiffen. A squeeze. She didn't push him away but she also didn't react in any other way.

The lights turned green and a father and daughter went on with their day.