Split in two, part witnessed, the other part invisible. I want to know what he’s feeling, but at the same time I’m frightened to find out the truth. He didn’t say a word when he looked at me and cried. The only sound that disturbed our silence was the banister creaking in protest under his weight. His crying was quiet, just tears skimming down his face, no sniffles, no muffled whimpering, nothing extra; it was like he was prepared for this moment and it didn’t catch him by surprise. We stood facing each other without saying a word for far too long, way too long at least for a father and daughter to be alone in each other’s presence without speaking. When I could no longer look at him, when I needed a distraction, I zeroed in on one tear that had spilled out of his left eye and watched it travel down his cheek. I lost it for a few seconds when it entered the dark stubble underneath his lips, but then it reappeared like a bubble, holding on to his chin, clinging to my father like I’m trying to cling to my innocence, to my better self, until the tear lost its grip, succumbed to gravity, and fell.
