novella being created for the National Novel Writing Month Contest
Chapter 3
It is Sunday and my hairy legs are gloriously wrapped up in Joie’s smoother and petite ones as I feel her slow and steady heartbeat flows as my ears pick up a distinctive faint cry near by. I untangle my legs from the twisted position and gently remove myself as I continue to hear the light cries from our daughter. Since her bedroom is near ours, she is just within reach. I grab my old University of Illinois at Chicago tee shirt and slid on my black shorts and jaunt quickly over to Imani limping. My thighs are sore as I worked out hard yesterday with Chi at the basketball court like we used to when we played basketball on the westside with Pharell and the crew. But enough of that. I need to play with my other best girl.
Upon opening the door, I see the weak smile of her because I guess she didn’t think no one was coming to rescue her. Her black eyes are starting to remind me of my mother more and more. Peeking over her bed I grab her little hands and being to sing-song her to a little peace and quiet and open and close my eyes quickly as to get her immediate attention. It is after all, Six O’Clock in the morning and we don’t’ get ready for church until at least a few more hours. Imani’s clear nails are well-coiffed, as Joie cleaned them on yesterday and she’s pounding her hands in the small bed that is covered in pink sheets and a huge white Hello Kitty comforter as she is waiting for me to pick her up. Her chubby arms are extended like she’s ready to fly up up and away! I’m glad too because after a talk with Joie a few months ago, I was honest and real and let her know I missed the opportunity to be a father and I wanted to take apart of Imani’s growth and development.
One of the newest things I have learned to do with Imani is sing songs and do finger games. I am not sure my daddy even did any of these things for me and I’m happy to oblige my favorite girl. The first thing I do is lift her up out of the bed and hug her body, feel her softness, and kiss her redbone cheeks as she gurgles a thank you to me. I think she likes this part of morning with me lately. The change to be alone with me and just soak up my energy.
And the feeling is returned.
As I put her down in her play pen, she stands up strongly chanting, “Da-da! Da-da!” and it’s all I can do but not let tears flow because it’s only been three months since I’ve been apart of her daily routine, but it’s been worth it. My face is red and I”m holding back the tears but inside my heart I feel like I won a war or something. The air in my chest feels a little bit lighter and as I touch the spot right over my heart, she does the same too. It’s just a little much to take and I laugh and so does she.
This room is filled with much love and laughter and I’m so grateful to God. If only he knew the gift he has given me. Or maybe he does. And on this warm summer Indian day in September I am the one who’s really happy and blessed.
I gather myself and get real close to her noticing the red sleeping pants and white tee-shirt hugging her thick body as I chuckle. This girl is looking more like her mom every day, especially with those hips. Our eyes begin to communicate as I lean against the wires of the play pen, and place two forefingers on Imani’s shoulder and begin to sing loudly.
‘Two little black birds sitting on a hill.”
My hands climb up her little arms as she wildly laughs outloud.
“One named Jack.”
I hold up my pinky finger to show her. And she mimics me immediately.
“One named Jill.”
I hold up my other forefinger and she strongly pokes hers out.
My voice gets louder with the middle stanza as I watch her move her head from side to side.
“Fly away, Jack, Fly away Jill.” and my hands are on my hips as I wiggle my fingers and see the huge grin on my daughter’s face. I bring both hands together and do it again so she can understand that Jack flies away and then Jill flies away.
I bring both her hands together again as I sing the final stanza.
“Come back, Jack. Come Back, Jill.” I bring both her hands to her shoulders one at a time signaling that Jill and Jack should come back to her.
She is loudly laughing at this point and I hear a clearing of a throat behind me as my wife comes to the both of us, flickering her fingertips on my shoulders, saying, “You getting too good at this father thing.”
“Good morning, Imani.” She softly kisses Imani and grabs my hands bringing us all into in a family huge and I can’t say one thing to complain about this love. This energy.
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