listen to Jewel's foolish games for effect.
Faith
I have never seen my father, nor have I spoken to him before. I never had a chance to hold his hand when I was afraid; nor had I received any birthday presents. All I had were his well wishes. He never came to any parent-teacher meetings nor brought me to the zoo. All I knew was how he looked like from pictures, what his favourite food were, what his favourite colour was and that his eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue.
My daughter has never seen her father in her seventeen years of life, has never smelt the aftershave he always slaps on, has never eaten the fabulous meat loaf he could whip up. She could never and I do not blame her. I have always wondered if it would be damaging to a child without a male figure to look up, but I guess I was wrong, she grew up perfectly fine as she admired him from the distance.
I've always wondered if my father's hand was smooth like baby's bottom, or rough after all the years of carpentering. I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I often overhear my mother asking her friends if it was alright for my development if I did not have a father figure to look up to. I did not see that as a worry, I’ve always admired him from afar and I’ve always loved him no matter what he has done.
Benji and I were celebrating at the restaurant almost 18 years ago after learning about my pregnancy. We had a scrumptious meal of beef and baked potatoes which we knew we could only afford once in a blue moon as that entire meal could buy us a week’s worth of groceries. I knew the baby would lie heavily on our pockets, but I also knew it was all right. It was Benji's child and it made him so excited and happy to learn he was soon to be father. After seven years of marriage and trying, a miracle happened.
My mother told me several times why my father could not be with us, but that did not mean he loved us any lesser. She said it was the day my parents learnt that Mother was expecting me. It was dark and cold and the only affordable restaurant was in the part of town where it was not exactly the safest. Three drunk, big and burly men approached my mother while she waited by the side as my father went to drive the car over. They tried to get fresh with her, tugging on her sweater and pulling her to where their truck was. She kicked and protested and screamed fearing for the safety of the foetus.
I remembered the fear and panic that set in as those men tried to pull me like a rag doll towards the smelly truck. I remembered praying to God for Benji and to keep the baby safe. How, I remember that night so clearly. In an instant, I saw one of the men lying on the ground, blood gushing out of his nose like waterworks and the other two staggering about with their sour breadth down my neck. I saw a flash of white that flew across and another man was down. Benji was a good fighter and he never lost any matches. However, this time, it landed him in hot soup.
I have seen trophies of boxing on the shelves belonging to my father when he was still in school. No doubt he was a great fighter, but he never fought outside the ring my mother claimed. But, that night was an exception. He fought to save my mother and he fought in order to save me. As he bravely took on the three of them and protected us, my mother ran back to the restaurant to call the police and seek help. She was however, too late.
With adrenaline running through his veins, Benji could be very strong, and fatal. I ran out with the kitchen chef and a muscled diner only to see Benji throwing final punches to the last man standing. Benji looked raged and almost insane as the kitchen chef pulled him away from the already motionless man who was almost twice his size. I looked around and saw the men all lying motionlessly on the ground with their faces covered in blood and gravel. Is this what rage and the power of love could do? Soon, I heard sirens from the distance as Benji put his bloodied arms around my shoulders and tried to comfort me instead as I engulfed in sobs.My mother said that thinking back, the pale, look of horror on the faces of the spectators as they gasp in shock and their hands flew up to their perfectly shaped mouths were actually quite amusing. However, it was not so amusing for my father. He was charged with manslaughter as he killed one of the three and made the other one deaf, the third man never walked the same again. I remember asking her once, how she could love this man I had grown to admire.
"Faith. That is also why I named you Faith." I answered her.
11:29 PM
