On a Tuesday, In The Garden

“Daddy! Come look! You have to see what I found in the garden!”

            She was bouncing and tugging on the sleeve of my shirt, excited and out of breath, but I put my finger to my lips, and I pointed at the screen, where a man in a tie was telling me what my goals would be this quarter.

            “But Daddy, this is important!”

            She stomped a foot as she said it, to emphasize her point.

            “I'm sorry, Kiddo. I have to work. You can show me after lunch.”

            I didn't look up from the screen, but I could feel her shoulders drop, and I could feel her disappointment as she turned and went back out. I knew she'd understand. It seemed like she always did, and I had wondered on a few occasions if the grace she gave to me was an attribute inherent to all children at that age.

            After about an hour passed, there was another tug at my cuff, not to get my attention this time, but trying, it appeared, to avoid it. When I looked, I saw a dirty face wearing a sheepish grin. A little hand slid a silver cufflink into the pocket of her jeans.

            “He said I should bring something shiny.”

            “Be careful with that, Kiddo.”

            The cufflinks had been an award, for efficiency or productivity, or something of that nature; I couldn't quite remember.

            “I will. Do you want to come with me now?”

            I shook my head apologetically, and I tussled her dusty hair, and she kissed me lightly on the cheek before she turned and ran outside. The man on the screen was talking now about service level agreements, and he paused to remind me how important it was that I give him my attention. I nodded and apologized, and he continued talking, as I took notes and tried to hang on every word he said.

            A little after noon, the man said we could break for lunch, so I stood up, and I stretched my legs, and I went into the kitchen. I made a simple sandwich with turkey and mayonnaise, as I looked out of the window toward the garden just out back. She wasn't playing out there anymore, and I guessed her game had ended. I would have to remember to ask about it when my work for the day was done.

            The afternoon passed quietly, without any interruption, and I answered all of my emails, and I finished my reports. I shut my laptop down at sunset, when I heard the screen door close, then I moved over to the couch and let myself sink down into it. She came and nestled in beside me, dirty, tired, and distant. I put my arm around her, and I kissed her on the head.

            “So, what did you find in the garden?” I asked when she was settled.

            “Oh, I met a little man,” she said, and she yawned, and I yawned back, “and he showed me how to get into the place that he came from.”

            She had the kind of imagination that I had when I was young, but the stories she told were better than anything I could ever have come up with.

            “And what was this place like?”

            “Well, everyone was nice to me at first. We danced, and we played games, and we ate cakes with honey. Real honey. From bees, not from a bottle. Then they took me to meet the queen, only she was not nice. She said that I couldn't come home, and everyone was excited about that. But I wasn't excited. They said we could dance and play games all the time, and we'd have all the real honey I wanted. But I didn't want to stay there forever. Because I'd miss you, and Mommy, and no one there even had a dog.”

            “No dogs? Well. That sounds awful.”

She nodded, and I chuckled.

             “What happened next?”

            “So my friend, the one from the garden? He said that if I gave the queen a gift, she might let me come home. Something shiny. And I had your cufflink, so I gave her that. And then she turned into dust, because I guess they don’t like silver. And all the people said that meant that I was the new queen, and they were all happy, because I would be a nice queen. They even let me keep her crown.”

            “Wow,” I said when she finished. “You had a very big day. Should we make dinner?”

            “I'm not very hungry,” she said, and she tightened her arms around me. “I'm sorry you couldn't go, Daddy. I wish you could have seen it.”

            “Me too, Kiddo. I'll have time to play this weekend. You can show it to me then.”

            She looked at me, and she pursed her lips, and she firmly shook her head, as tears formed in the corners of eyes that looked so much like my own.

            “We can't.”

            “Well, why not?”

            “They said...” her voice was wavering.

            “They said if I left I could never come back.”

            She buried her face in the crook of my arm, fully sobbing now.

            “I didn't bring your cufflink back.”

            She was short of breath and muffled by the fabric of my shirt. I rubbed her back and decided that I wouldn't be upset. I was sure that it would turn up, either in the garden or in her room.

            “You can have this, though.” She stifled the crying as best she could, and she looked up at me. I wiped away the tears that had streaked the dirt on her face, and she opened a hand that, until now, had been balled into a fist.

            I noticed first the weight of the thing that had been inside the fist. It was heavy for its size. It was small, and it was round, with intricate enamel work over what looked like it could be gold. I slipped the thing into her pocket, and I kissed her on the cheek, and after she fell asleep in my arms, I carried her up to bed.