Dragonflies

There are dragonflies in the back garden, and I see you in each one.

Patrizio watched the buildings roll on in a hypnotizing rhythm. Every once in a while, something new would catch his eye, and he would add it to the list in his notebook:

• Silhouettes on frosted glass
• Toll House Road
• Magnolia Restaurant off the coastal highway
• Blue moons
• Turkey Hill with a “live bait” sign in the front window 

He found riding the bus gave him greater freedom to observe. When he drove, he focused more on how he moved through the world rather than how it moved around him. It was a tactic that had got him through several published novels and dozens of unpublished poems.

Patrizio gripped the side of his seat as the bus came to a sudden stop. A young woman and her son sat down across from him. He watched as the boy, who couldn’t have been older than five, twirled his toy wooden airplane through the air. The boy shrieked with excitement as he jostled around in his seat, his mother casting worried glances around the bus. With a soft smile, she held her finger to her lips and leaned down toward her son, who pressed his forehead to hers with a wide grin.

With deft fingers, she softly grabbed the plane from her son’s hand and slid the wing piece out of the body panel. She handed the wing to the boy, who looked at it curiously, before wielding her piece like a sword. She slowly began to cut through the air, whispering,

“Woosh. Woosh.”

Before long, a smile steadily blossomed on the boy’s face, and he crossed “swords” with his mother. The pieces collided rhythmically, and the boy became more enthusiastic with each parry. Eventually, he was back to swinging his piece back and forth wildly, until he lost his grip and the piece skidded across the floor, colliding with Patrizio’s foot. Patrizio carefully leaned down and plucked the toy from the floor.

“Here you are, young man,” Patrizio said, beaming as he stretched his arm toward the boy. 

The boy snatched the piece back, grinning shyly at the old man, chin tucked against his chest. His mother put a hand on his shoulder, gently easing him back to his seat, eyeing Patrizio warily. 

Patrizio gave the woman a courteous smile and returned to his notebook. He felt the need to write something down but didn’t know what. He was staring at the page when he felt a rogue tear fall down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away. 

You were my most persistent love, and when God asks for the good I did on this Earth, I will point to you.

Patrizio readjusted the bag on his shoulder as he pushed his way through the door and into the diner. He headed straight to the left and was a bit surprised to hear familiar laughter. He looked up and caught eyes with Charles, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Fred.

“Well, look who decided to show his ugly mug,” Charles joked.

“Yes, yes.” Patrizio huffed as he tossed his bag into the booth and sat.

“Everything all right, Pat?” Fred asked, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re usually the early bird.”

“Of course.” Patrizio turned around to try and flag down the waitress. “Rita!”

“Grabbed it the second you walked in the door,” Rita said as she stepped up to the table, placing a mug in front of Patrizio and pouring out the coffee.

“You’re an angel,” Patrizio said, his hands already wrapping themselves around the mug.

“Bet you say that to all the girls.” Rita gave him a quick wink before leaving.

“You missed Charlie’s story,” Fred said, mixing some sugar into his coffee. “Apparently his boss has it in for him.”

“I’ve never understood this desire of yours to be working constantly,” Patrizio grumbled.

“I’m sorry—our resident author, the man who carries a notebook in his back pocket, is saying he doesn’t understand the desire to work?” Charles scoffed. 

“Ah, you know what I mean,” Patrizio said dismissively. “It’s the fact that you let some kid more than half your age boss you around. We’re a bit old for all that, aren’t we?”

“All I know is I couldn’t do it, going back to work,” Fred said. “I’m too stuck in my ways to have some young buck giving me what for.”

“I need it,” Charles said. “I’d chew my fingers off if I was stuck at home all the time.”

All three men took sips of their drinks, each debating whether it needed more sugar or cream. It wasn’t long before Fred decided to speak up again,

“Becky hosted a family barbecue today.”

“We know,” Patrizio joked, “you told us about it last week.”

“And the week before,” Charles added.

“Well, you should’ve seen the spread the kids managed to scrounge up. They wouldn’t hear of me bringing anything! Then—” Fred began to laugh, “—oh, the girls! First, they got their hands on some of Judy’s cupcakes, and—”

“Freddie,” Charles interjected sweetly, patting Fred’s hand with his own, “I know you love your family, but at this point, they could be my kids and grandkids with how often you talk about them.”

Patrizio and Charles laughed together, and eventually Fred relented and joined in,

“All right then, what riveting stories do you have? And the old ones don’t count! We’ve heard them all.” Fred wagged his finger playfully at Charles.

“Actually,” Patrizio cut in as he fished around in his bag, “I need your opinion on something.”

“Oh, the great artiste asking for help from the common man,” Charles teased.

“I just need to know if this is any good.” Patrizio retrieved a piece of paper and handed it over to Fred and Charles. “I tried to…I don’t know, simplify it as best I could.”

“Gee, doesn’t that make me feel smart,” Charles muttered. 

“Just read it, please,” Patrizio implored.

Fred and Charles leaned into each other as their eyes raked over the paper. When they were done, the two threw a quick glance at each other before Fred passed the paper back.

“So?” Patrizio looked warily between his two friends.

“It’s…good,” Fred said. “Brief, but that’s probably best. It gets the point across. I mean, it’s not that it should be longer just because—”

“Fred…” Patrizio groaned.

“It’s just…” Fred tossed a look to Charles,

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Charles asked outright, “You think you’re ready? That he’s ready?” 

Patrizio chuckled. “I’m not getting any younger. Might as well. And…I miss him. Miss us.”

There was a heavy silence, pregnant with what the men already knew, and the possibilities the letter held. Charles let out a long sigh and said, “Then it’s good.”

Patrizio smiled weakly at the two men and took a sip of his coffee.

“Well,” Fred began, trying to lighten the mood again, “now that that’s out of the way, how’s your wife’s bowling coming along, Charles?”

“Let’s just say a lot of our retirement fund is going to Bowling Shammy companies.”

“The who now?” Patrizio grinned.

“You don’t wanna know.”

The three men laughed and continued to do so throughout the afternoon as they swapped stories, jabs, and jokes in the small highway-side diner. 

My sins burdened you. Your virtues were born of adversity, and I can claim none.

Patrizio leaned back in his office chair and stared out the window. It was dark out, but he could almost see each flower and shrub in the back garden. That view had been his only constant companion throughout the last three decades. 

He broke his gaze and turned to look down at his phone, sitting in the center of his desk. His finger traced imaginary designs along the wood as he wrestled with his instincts. His eyes drifted over to the paper on the edge of the desk, and on an impulse, he grabbed his phone and dialed the number.

While the line rang, he scanned the words on the page, rehearsing each pause and inflection in his head. On the fifth ring, his anxiety peaked and he thought about hanging up the phone, but just as he started to bring the phone down from his ear, the ringing stopped.

“…Hello?”

Patrizio could barely breathe for a moment, and the ringing in his ears was so loud he almost didn’t hear the man on the other end as he repeated himself,

“Hello?” The man said, his voice laced with concern. Patrizio cleared his throat,

“Daniel? Is that you?” Hearing the voice a second time, Patrizio could’ve sworn he was talking to himself.

“Yeah, it’s me…” The confusion in Daniel’s tone was now replaced with suspicion. “What’s going on, Dad? How, uh…how are you?”

“Good! Great,” nervous laughter escaped Patrizio’s lungs. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Daniel went silent, and when Patrizio didn’t respond, he spoke up again. “So… whatcha calling about?”

“Oh, right! Sorry, just a little, uh… well, it doesn’t matter.” Patrizio stood up from his chair, took a deep breath and cleared his throat again, “I, uh, I was in the backyard a few months back, just at the beginning of spring. I don’t actually remember what I was doing, but while I was standing there, this dragonfly flew up to me, got right in my face and just hovered there. It felt like we were staring at each other for hours.” Patrizio paused, trying to pace himself so he wouldn’t ramble.

“Uh-huh,” Daniel said, his voice looping back around to confusion.

“Well, obviously it flew away, but it reminded me of the way you used to go traipsing through the garden, trying to hunt down dragonflies to catch. You were so amazed by them, how they flew.” Patrizio chuckled, this time out of happy remembrance. “Well, to make a long story short, I decided to get some, uh, help. Go to therapy, meetings, that sort of thing.” Patrizio anxiously awaited Daniel’s response.

“…Uh-huh.” Patrizio blinked a few times, then continued.

“I don’t know how much you know about all that, but both my group and my therapist think it’s a good idea for me to start making amends with…with those I’ve hurt.” Patrizio gripped the paper in his hand, “So, I wrote you a letter, or well, a letter of sorts. I was wondering if I could—”

“Look, Dad,” Daniel interrupted, “I think it’s great you’re getting help. Seriously. But I’ve gotten some help of my own. I’ve done the therapy, Al-Anon, hell, even couples counseling, and…” Daniel sighed, “I just don’t think I’m in a place to hear it.”

“Oh.” Patrizio felt his heart fall from his chest to the floor. “Yes, of course. I don’t want to force this on you.”

“…Thanks.” The two were silent for a few moments, and Patrizio feared Daniel had hung up.

“Daniel?”

“Yeah, yeah, still here. Look, it’s late. Maybe we could talk about this another time.”

Patrizio could feel him slipping away. “If you think that’s best.”

“Yeah, I do. So, talk later?”

“Later,” Patrizio felt himself being pulled back down to earth.

“All right then, talk soon. Bye.”

“Bye…I lo—” Patrizio was cut off by the disconnected tone. 

He walked back around his desk and threw his phone down. He stood with his hands on his hips, his eyes drawn instinctively back out of the window. He wasn’t sure whether to scream, cry, or even laugh. In the end, he sat back down in his chair and let the piece of paper slip through his fingers onto the floor. 

If I could have you know one thing it would be this: At the end of it all, I’ll wish I loved you better.

Avery Bauer is a freelance writer, avid reader and book collector. She holds a BA in English Writing from the University of Pittsburgh, where she also had her first piece published in the university literary magazine Collision. She currently lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

Featured image by Hotch3Fotografie on Unsplash.