Sarah Flanigan - Poetry Simply Put

My spirit always raised a little whenever I saw Robby and Emily. They reminded me so much of me and Paul at their ages. The way Robby leaned in to show that he was Emily’s protector to any stranger who might have looked her way. How her eyes shone when she looked into his stern and handsome face. “Robby! Emily!” I called out. So many laughs and hugs and giggles. Like old times. Who cared that we were in a crazy airport being bumped and tripped over by strangers? Robby was a bean pole who wanted to be a star pitcher for the Detroit Tigers. He was never without the ratty cap my dad got him from the first game they saw together. Emily was an Irish beauty in miniature, with wavy auburn hair and sparkly green eyes. He was twelve and very serious about approaching adulthood. She was eight and still believed in Santa Claus. What a pair.
On the drive to Paul’s house in Cambridge, Emily asked, “Annie, where’s my daddy?”
“He’s Annie’s brother,” Robby corrected her. “We don’t have a dad.”
Emily’s face clouded. “We do too! Right, Annie?”
I narrowed my eyes in the rearview mirror at Robby. “That’s right, Em. We’ll see him soon. At the hospital.”

Robby slunked down in the backseat like a prisoner on Death Row. “How long do we have to stay?” He didn’t wait for an answer because he knew one wasn’t coming. After a quick, cold stare at me in the mirror he pulled his sketchbook and colored pens from his backpack and doodled.

****

Paul’s apartment was a happy surprise. He had antiques that were grand and deep and rich in color and other funny little things that he probably found in thrift shops. Goofy, bright-colored bowls, a lava lamp and a bean bag chair.

I knew it was Paul, but a Paul I didn’t know.

Paul had framed and hung his charcoal sketches on the walls. Three big bay windows let in so much sunshine that the room almost smiled. His cherished easel, paints and brushes sat right next to that lovely light. I saw an unfinished painting of a woman who looked familiar. When I took a closer look, I saw it was me, in another life and time. An old Polaroid of me was clipped to the top of the easel. I was touched that he’d wanted to paint me and that I had remained a part of his life, though I didn’t know.

Emily was openly curious and nosed around, looking into everything and every room. “This is neat!” she declared.

Robby froze only a few feet into the apartment and looked like something would jump out and swallow him up if he moved. He pretended to shiver, “Gives me the creeps.”

I had to coax Robby the whole way down the hallway while Emily could barely control her excitement. “Come on!” she called out and disappeared into the back room. I felt encouraged, a little, maybe Robby would be the only tough nut to crack in this situation. She’d probably melt when she saw her father.

Robby said, “I don’t think we should stay here, Annie. What if… what if?” An Academy Award performance, it wasn’t.

Emily popped her head out the door. “What if what?”

I gave Robby the evil eye and he relented. “Nothing, geek.”

Emily stuck out her tongue at him and disappeared back into the room.

Robby pouted. “Okay, but I’m not going to talk to him. You can’t make me. Can’t make me like him.”

The small guestroom was just big enough for a couple of twin beds and a dresser.

“Where are you going to sleep, Annie?” Emily asked concerned.

Robby ripped off the bed clothes from the bed.

“Robby, stop it!”

Robby wouldn’t look at me. “I’m not going to catch what he’s got!” He screamed like an injured animal. He kicked and screamed some more. Emily cried and backed into a corner.

“Robby, stop it!” I yelled though I wanted to be calm. “What’s the matter with you?” I sounded like my mother.

Emily cried harder. “Stop it, Robby! Stop it!”

Robby was flushed and shook with rage. “He’s not my father! He’s not! I hate him!” He made baby sounds and murmured to himself lost in a secret world of anguish.

“Robby please…”

“No, no, no! Take me home!” he erupted again.

“Robby, please! Your dad is sick. He can’t handle this.” Regret crept up and tapped me on the shoulder. I’d only made matters worse. It wouldn’t work. It never could.

Emily stopped crying and smiled. “Who’s that?” she pointed but I couldn’t look because I was trying to get through to Robby.

Emily giggles, “Yeah, I see you. I hear you too. Who are you?” She cooed like a dove. “Uh huh…Sister Mary-Margaret says angels are God’s messengers.” She laughed and pointed to Robby, “I don’t know…he’s really stubborn.”

Robby stopped ranting and eyed Emily, then back to me. “Who is she talking to?”

They exhausted me already and we’d only been there ten minutes. “Nobody. She’s not talking to anybody.”

Emily continued her conversation like we could all see her imaginary friend. She laughed from her belly. “An angel named Al? That’s silly.”

“Emily, who you talking to, sweetie?” I asked, hoping my voice sounded calm and steady.

“Nobody. Just pretending,” she said then started singing a song I didn’t know.

“Geek.” Robby said it like a dirty word.

We heard the door open and then voices. I rushed toward the front room. The kids didn’t move.

Paul and Barbara greeted me as I entered the room. “Hello, there.” Paul sat propped on the sofa as Barbara wheeled a respirator next to him. Though he made a lemon face at Barbara’s coddling, he grinned too.

“How’s that?” Barbara asked.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought you had to stay in the hospital.”

Barbara grinned like a naughty kid. “We kind of finessed them. See, I’m a nurse. I told them I’d stick around and keep a watch on him.”

“And are you?” I asked. “Are you going to keep an eye on him?”

“I’m five minutes away, just pick up the phone and I’m here in an instant,” she assured me.

“They’re here?” Paul asked with dread.

Emily ran into the room and stopped short of jumping into Paul’s lap. “Are you my daddy?”

Paul melted at the sight of his beautiful little girl. “Yes, I’m your daddy.”

She smiled from head to toe. She went at him like a little fullback and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Daddy! Hi, Daddy.”

“Let go of him!” Robby the monster ordered her. We all jumped at his angry voice. “You want to die like him? Don’t touch him!”

Emily pulled away from Paul but didn’t know what to do.

“That’s not true, Emily,” Paul said gently. “Touching me won’t hurt you. I can’t make you sick like I am.”

“Don’t you touch my sister,” Robby screamed at Paul.

“Robby, this is your father. Mind your tongue!” I scolded him with absolutely no effect.

“He’s not my father. Just some stupid faggot who’s gonna die.” He stormed down the hall and slammed the door to his room.

“Nothing like a warm welcome,” Paul joked, but none of us laughed.

****

(To be continued….) copyright 2006

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