Page 31 of Teddy Bear

I didn't expect any answer, all I wanted was for her unpleasant, cheerful chatter to fall silent and for me to eat, or at least try to eat, the remains of my now completely tasteless dinner in the dreary silence of the foggy log house by the lake; but suddenly the grotesque mask moved, only a small movement—but a gesture of something long ago alive, a silver thread that in a long lost moment lit fire and glowed—and, only in outline, but I thought I saw him.

- Lizzie is right. I'm tired, but don't worry, I’ll make up for everything we missed.

In that moment, he was a shooting star, a bright light that was doomed to death by its very existence. He flashed and shone with incredible speed, but in that brief gap, my heart pounded in my chest, and I clenched my fists to stop the tears gathered in the corners of my eyes.

He turned to me and smiled easily - there was nothing forced, artificial or fake about it, it was that old, simple smile, simple and natural just like breathing, walking, speaking - something that is a part of ourselves, learned and deeply woven into our consciousness; it was a smile: this is Lizzie my daughter, Lizzie right now, this is Lizzie my little girl—and nothing else.

It was a simple, ordinary, and genuine smile that was worth more than anything else. It was proof that we were still family and that I was his daughter.

It was the light of a single star in a completely dead, black night.

And I thought that maybe all was not lost.

Although the shooting star died quickly, and my dad returned to its soft, expressionless stupor, that little gesture made me think that maybe my mother really was right.

Maybe my father was really just seriously ill, and that's why he was doing all that.

It's very sad and heartbreaking, but most mental illnesses are curable, or at least controllable, and now there was Danny, a top specialist and my father's best friend, who wouldn't let all of that happen again.

Maybe my mother was right all along. Maybe I should just forgive him and forget everything.

He is my father who loves me; deep within the dark passages of his soul, I am a part of him; I belong to him, just as he belongs to me, and there is nothing in the world that can ever change that.

Maybe I just need to love him hard enough, forgive him hard enough, and this time be completely perfect, completely obedient, completely good.

Maybe this time I can make it right, and maybe dad can love me again.

✦ 🧸 ✦

Indeed, for the first month my father was able to love me again.

It was a carefree, sunshine-and-rose-colored period of his so-called recovery during which everything was idyllic, and I was foolish enough to fall for it and be drawn into the pink bubble of his madness and a little attention and love.

It turned out that dad was very proud and pleased with my decision to continue my education (even if it was in the Faculty of Arts and not Law, as was his original, grandiose idea) and that he never doubted my worth and abilities.

He supported all this with daily long conversations with me, inside jokes, watching movies with snacks and cookies that mom enthusiastically prepared in generous quantities, trips and walks in nature, and all those wonderful, bonding activities that create an unbreakable bond between father and daughter.

In order to keep his affection and attention, which was as essential as the air, fighting frantically for every breath, I circled around my father, literally tiptoeing, playing a careful, most fragile ballet, taking care not to hurt, tear, or damage the thin thread that connected us again.

Because to break that thread was now tantamount to death.

I had this horrible, sickening and tearing feeling in the bottom of my stomach, that if things go wrong again, and if dad again becomes a monster with a grotesque mask full of contempt and hatred - this time, my physical body will not be able to withstand it, I had the impression that this time, his rejection will be equal to physical death and that I will not be able to withstand it, this time there will be no way out from the fire of his anger and madness.

Even though my insides convulsed at the slightest change in every gesture and expression on his face, even though I felt like a walker on a burning wire, trying to forcefully keep balance on my frail legs, I put all that aside, and absorbed my father's attention and love like a flower hungry for sun and rain.

From each of his warm and gentle words, from each joke and silent praise, I grew a little more, feeling stronger and braver.

When I had his love, I could almost conquer the world; now there was no insurmountable obstacle for me, no challenge I could not accept or pain I could not endure.

When I look back on it now, I'm honestly horrified by that thought and idea, an idea that somehow cocooned and programmed my suffering mind, that shaped most of my conscious and unconscious behavior - the idea that I would endure any amount of pain for the sake of my father's love.

It was an absolute, sacred promise etched into my brain, and now that I had it, I was fucking invincible.

I invested enormous strength and effort to prove to my father that I am still the good and hard-working girl he once knew. It was quite difficult at times, given my timid nature, various disagreements, and my rather changed views on the world, but still, there was nothing on planet Earth that would cause me to break our new love and affection.

Except, maybe, him.

Danny came often and spent time with dad, checking on him and making sure everything was in the best order. He was like a benevolent guardian spirit who carefully watched over our lives from the shadows, ready to jump in at the first trouble.