Father

I sit on a bench at the edge of a cliff; the wind rushes off the sea in a calm howl. It blows strong enough to make you feel the stinging chill off the water. I zip up the collar on my coat to fend off the cold, but I still sit and wait. It was pertinent that I wait here on this bench. My father, whom I have not spoken to for a while for a month at least, he told me to wait for him here in this godforsaken cliff. He only takes me to this cliff when he has something important to tell me. When I was five he brought me here to tell me that he and my mother were splitting up, and that he was going to move away, far away. Then he took my baseball and threw it over the cliff, and he said that our game of catch would never end, as the ball has fallen to the edge of the world. He said that I would never catch the ball, until we return then it will be my turn to toss. The next time he brought me here I was six, he told me that he was moving back and that I’d see him more often, possibly once or more a week. He gave me a ball and told me it was my turn to throw. When I was at that age I’d believe him, somewhat, that the cliff was really the edge of the world; I also believed him when he told me we’d be spending more time together, it was like that at first but as time waned so did the frequencies of our visits, but on our important talks he would bring me here. The ignorance of youth; now at my age, I couldn’t fathom how in the world I could have thought this wretched cliff was the edge of the world. 

I knew it wasn’t really the edge of the world, I found out for myself when I was nine. It was a black sand beach at the bottom of the cliff. At school I learned it was a place that some silly people with wild puritan beliefs got stranded there a few hundred years back. I do remember one thing from that lesson; when the ship run aground the people on deck looked up the high cliff and one had asked, “Is this… Is this truly the edge of our world?” They’ve got a piece of the ship hung in the town’s local museum, and a roster of names of people who had gotten off the ship. I wonder if my father knew about that man’s first words, with his first steps on this new land, with tears in his eyes… Why would I think of that? I don’t think I’ve learned that from a simple history lesson; must have been something I’ve read, or simply the wind in my eyes. Goddamn! It’s cold.

When I was fifteen I was finally curious as to what was really down at that beach. I took a long walk down. It took nearly the whole day to get down there to finally see the black sands, and the black cliff face. I guess no one really takes care of the place, I found a ton of garbage down there. Amongst that trash I found twenty-one baseballs. I did not realize that we’d come out here that often. Twenty-one conversations of life, twenty-one games of unending catch, only to have the balls left at the base, unmoved. At that point I realized the game was a farce, and our important talks just didn’t seem so important anymore. I picked up a ball, then another, then another. I went around that black sand beach and collected all of the baseballs I could find. Black sand is a little different than the sandy beaches most people are used to. It’s coarse, and many of the rocks are sharp. I remember that I cut my fingers as I was picking the balls, and the cuts burned from the salt that was left on the rocks and pebbles. As if tears had torn the black cliffs and remained in the sands a reminder…  I don’t know why I think of these strange thoughts at times, it’s almost as if someone else was having them.

~

I shiver and shrink into my coat, trying to escape into my own body heat as the wind gusts and blows. There is that constant howl. It goes on and on, when you sit here alone you start imagining things. You swear the ocean is wailing and speaking saying a long ‘hello’ and it taunts with a constant condescending ‘HEELLLOOO’. Or a HEEELLLLO SON.

“Hello son? You there?”

I jump out of my seat a bit, I must have been in deep thought for a while because when I came to I realized that the man I was to meet was standing, bent over, and waving his hand in my face saying, “You there sonny boy? Having a little dream on the cliff, are we? Eh?” My father chortles to himself.

“Why I remember when you were a little boy I’d take you up here and we’d just stare off to the horizon, looking for ships, whales, and what not. But they wouldn’t be there now would they boy?” A delightful tone expels from my father’s voice as he reminisce of times of yore. Not the way I remember it at all.

“Hello, Father. What’s so important that you had to take me all the way out here? Couldn’t we have just sat at a coffee shop? You know, where it’s warm and not windy at all?”

“Well, you don’t have to be like that, my boy! You know we like to come out here, it’s a beautiful spot to talk nonsense, sports, and the like” well, nonsense maybe, but I don’t retort with that.

He goes on about everything; about every reason he brought me here over the years. From the ‘I’m moving away, son’ to the ‘I’m getting married again.’ All the while avoiding my questions.

“Dad, why the fuck did you bring me up here for? I know it’s not to talk about some stupid shit that’s happened in the past. I know it’s not about you getting married again, cause you just got married four months ago!” With that he sits silent, distant look in his eyes, as if my few little words of discontent shot him down from the sky. He stares blankly, and his eyes have look of tears forming. I stand there, over him with a scornful face. All these years of bringing me here to listen to his bullshit, all these years to be brought here for disappointment, he finally sits there, on the same bench we have sat on for twenty-two years and he’s about to cry. Standing there, in silence, demanding an answer from the man who had given little, to nothing other than words of seeming wisdom, and disappointment. Time had passed; it could have been forever, or just a few moments. The wind still howled it’s silent howl, flapping the tails of my coat, the only movement to be seen. He finally looks up at me mouth a gaped, still silent, lips quivering. His white beard shivers in the wind. His eyes well up with hot tears of desperation, his face becomes pale, and I break my stance of confrontation and become a little worried.

“I’m sorry son…” he manages to whisper out. Then he breaks down, his rough old hands covering his face as he silently sobs.

“I’m sorry, to put you through this, I mean to put through all that I have… I was never a good father. I couldn’t…” he heaves and sobs and lets out a slight cry, composing himself for the next few words. “I c-c-couldn’t give you much than to give you our little talks here on the cliff…but I think it’s time to tell you, I’m-I’m dying, have been for over six months. That’s why I got married, that’s why I’ve brought you here more times than usual these past few months. I’ve wanted to tell you but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t make this place such a depressing and dark place for you.” Shows you how much he’s been paying attention. “I loved taking you out here, it’s where my father brought me when he had something important to say. His father did the same, and so on and so forth. All the way back to when the first settler’s came here. You see, my great-great-great-great-many times great-grandpapi stepped off the ship and saw this as a magical place. He saw the Edge of the World here.

“This was a place I would look forward to when I was a lad. Father and I would play catch here, not like the way we do, but we would toss the ball, and he’d tell me everything about life.  Women, sports, assets, kids, and everything!” He sobs a little, again covering his face. I’m stunned; I do not dare say a word. This cliff, this place was important to him, I knew that much, but I never fully realized how important it was to him. This is where his fondest child hood memories took place. I never really knew my grandfather; he died just before I was born. But I’m sure he took my father out here till his twilight years. I imagine an old man going from his grayish state becoming bright eyed and full of life as he played catch with his only son, upon the cliff at the Edge of the World.

My father collects himself. Sits up straight and breathes in heavily, and expels a loud rush of air. In a few seconds he looks calm, and composed, and regains his former voice of hearty assertion. In a serious tone he says to me, “The last time my father and I came up here he told me he was going to die, die very soon. He looked so old, and sickly, but he still had that twinkle of life in his eye. Burning stronger than it did when he was younger. He smiled at me, he let me know he was proud, although you were not around yet, he knew that his own son would live on to carry our tradition. So bright was his face, and so strong was his smile, I swear it gave him enough strength to get out of his wheelchair and toss the ball. One. Last. Time.”

I sit back down beside my father, not saying a word, and look out at the horizon, looking for sailing ships, whales, or anything at all that could be out there. He continues on with his speech.

“This place, is a good place, that is why I’d brought you here. I figured if I can’t be around you, my boy, all the time then I’d bring you to a happy place so that you wouldn’t have any bad memories of me here. I love you my son. And I’m so sorry, that I couldn’t always be there for you. But please promise me only one thing, one thing and that’s it! When you have a son of your own you will bring him here. This is the edge where we teach our boys the finer things in life. The important things! I’m not-not feeling to good right now, I-I-I think I should go home and rest a bit…” his voice trails off, and he’s about to get up and leave, and I stop him.

“Dad, you should throw the ball. I know it’s my turn, but I think you should do it.” He turns and looks at me. His face pale, and gaunt, weak and powerless, then his eyes burned bright with life. His smile more genuine than I have ever remembered, and the blood flowed back into his face. I swear he looked twenty years younger, full of life and strength you could not imagine him being ill. Then as quickly as life flowed through his veins and the spark in his eyes exploded, he collapsed, and toppled down to the ground grasping his left arm.

“Dad! For Christ’s sake, Dad!” I screamed. The ball falling out of my hand and rolled to the edge of the cliff, and it fell over and bounced its way down to black sands. I clutch my father in my hands. There was nothing I could do, he looked at me for one last time and smiled with his eyes distant and yet burning bright. He died in my arms. I picked him up, and put him in the back seat of my car and drove the thirty kilometers to the nearest hospital. I tried to save him but I was told he was dead before I even put him in my car.

~

A few months have past since my father’s passing. We had him cremated, and I got to keep his ashes. The service was nice, and no word of malcontent was passed about him. Even though I’ve spent half my life hating him, and that cliff, I still couldn’t bring myself to say anything bad at his eulogy. I quoted him as well, I said ‘In my father’s words, he once told me, at the Edge of the World,  “Life is a game of catch, a game of catch with all the people around you. The game will end when you part ways, but you just start it up again when you see them next…”’ but what I did not say that our game of catch, our own special game of catch would never end. Until now that is. I drove out to the cliff and sat with my father’s ashes, for several hours. Then the several hours led into the night. I sat there silent, and still, waiting for the right time. The night rushes by and the wind died. The Sun was starting to rise. I pick up my father’s ashes, walk to the Edge, and let my father go. His ashes spread finely across the black sand beach, and I let out a single tear and collapse into myself. A silent wail pierces through me and out to the world. I cried for a man I claimed to have hated, on a cliff that has brought me only news of misery, but I now realized, this is where my life began. This is where my father’s life began. This is where I’ve learned to become the man I am today. This is the Edge of My World.