Dad… - Short story contest by Bao Kha

1. Rain. It was just a drizzle earlier but it was getting more and more intense. And my sobbing was getting more intense. The sound of my crying mixed with the sound of the rain, making the situation more miserable than it already was. I couldn't remember how many times I secretly shed tears out of sadness - secretly crying because my mother had repeatedly told me not to cry - but now I was really crying!

The square is spacious, with a row of large areca trees running around the border, their branches and leaves like giant combs, rustling in the rain. I am sitting in a familiar place. Since coming to this town, every time I come here to play with Phuc, Hung, and Tien, it is so much fun. We paint statues, play foosball, eat skewers, drink sugarcane juice... laugh and joke around. But tonight, it is just me and the blinding rain. Lonely. The square is two kilometers from my house, but I feel like I am in some faraway world , a world with only me, the rain and the wind.

Mom, I'm cold! How can the wind and rain hear my voice? Where can I go now, where can I return? Is there any place in this world that loves me more than that place? Where is my mother and... that man - the mother who many times tiptoed to suggest that I call her "dad" instead of "uncle". Oh, I long to know the warm feeling of lying in my own small room, with my uncle dropping the mosquito net and nagging: "Put your phone away and go to bed early, you have to go to school tomorrow morning!" - a voice that was cold but strangely warm. Why did I only realize that silent, profound feeling now? You fool. You deserve it! I sat still on the cold stone bench, letting the rain pour on my head, down my neck, making my whole body numb like a frozen little bird, as a punishment...

ILLUSTRATION: AI

2. It kept repeating like that throughout my childhood journey with the days after school that made me want to cry. I was shy to talk to my friends because they had a hobby of telling stories about how their father took them to play here and there, bought toy cars, robots... and all kinds of things. And if only that, worse, they would innocently say loudly that when they went down the street, they saw my father take my stepmother and An's sisters to eat grilled skewers, ice cream, and bought superhero balloons, crocodiles of all kinds. I don't know if my friends were naive or doing it on purpose when they enthusiastically told me as if I really wanted to hear those heartbreaking stories. It was terrible, no one knew that I was sad to death or at least just wanted to run somewhere and cry my heart out.

I had to try not to show my sadness every time I came home because I was afraid that my mother would be sad. I never told her that I kept comforting myself that my father would just go somewhere and come back and not leave me. My house was next to my paternal grandparents' house, my father often went there, every time he came back I would run over to see him, talk to him, and get attention, but he always went back to a woman named Tho and two children of another man, but he naturally called him "dad" sweetly in front of me - as if I was just a mindless speck of dust. My mother didn't even bother to mention the terrible womanizer who left her in a near-death trauma.

After the failed suicide attempt - thanks to my loud cries when my mother closed the door to harm herself, she threw herself into earning an income to raise her only son because she was unable to give birth like other women after the accident caused by my father and then had to leave. Even though she went back to work, after returning from the brink of death, every month my mother had to spend a week struggling with fainting spells, so I had to hide all my feelings, only secretly crying when I took a bath, otherwise always cheerful like the "strong young man" that my mother often affectionately called.

Actually, my mother, although understanding, did not say anything but understood very well that I could not live a life without the love of a father. So she took another gamble - finding a father for me. It may sound ridiculous, but it would be the best thing she could do at this time to heal the wounds left by my terrible father.

This is a difficult story. My grandmother said "different blood, different heart". I remember that year when I was in 5th grade, it was the first time my house had a male guest. He was almost 20 years older than my father, so I called him "uncle". He had the face of a male god, was lovable, liked to talk and often bought me toys, especially when we ate together, he always saved the best part for me. He did not treat me like a "poor child" like other adults. I liked that very much because no one wanted to be pitied, it was humiliating. Gradually, I developed a deep sympathy for him - a man that I believed any child would be honored to be close to.

Actually, at first I was worried that my only great love would be stolen, so I was confused and bewildered. But one night I suddenly felt dizzy, pale, vomiting and having diarrhea. It was 10:30 at night but my uncle still traveled 40 km to be with me and my mother. When the car stopped at the hospital gate, my uncle carried me in. Although I was exhausted, I felt supported by his strong and safe shoulder. At that time, I wished that this back as strong as a wall was my father's.

***

That year I was in 7th grade, my uncle picked me up and took me back to town with him.

When we moved in together, I still persisted in calling him "uncle". Actually, the biggest obstacle to the "uncle" - "dad" distance was because my mood was not as good as I thought. When everyone lived separately, my uncle ran back and forth, taking care of me and making me wish, but when we moved in together, I limited myself because I was afraid. My uncle was very strict, meticulous in speech and work, so he also wanted to teach his children to be meticulous in his own way. I started to feel pressured by the rule of "learning to eat, learning to speak, learning to wrap, learning to open". It was crazy, everything had to be learned. My uncle threatened, if I didn't learn now, I would inevitably pay the price later. What was needed later, now my child had already "paid the price" for longing to have a father. Just by saying a sentence without a subject, I would be gently reminded by my uncle.

Worse, since I was little, my mother spoiled me so much that I had very instinctive habits, like holding my chopsticks upright like no one else, then liking to eat snacks instead of rice, watching TV endlessly and... As a result, at every meal, my aunt tried to help me hold my chopsticks more neatly and explained about the culture of sitting down to eat. She patiently waited until I was okay. Oh, I dare to bet the world that no child wants to listen to long moral lectures. If I didn't resist, it was probably because I lost or didn't have that ability - I guessed so and felt full of dissatisfaction.

Many times when I was angry and impulsive, I said bad words. Looking at those eyes, I knew he was sad, but at that time he just quietly went about doing something without saying anything. There were also times when he could not control his emotions, he got angry and raised his voice, but he did not speak harshly or spank his butt. On the contrary, he would be very gentle to instruct me, he declared that he would compete with me to see who would give up first. Many times like that, I understood his vast heart.

Like one time I accidentally fell and broke my arm while playing at school, when I came home from school in the sun, my uncle ran to the door to greet me, saw my arm dangling, he was speechless and pale. My mother went to work far away, my uncle didn't tell me, just silently took me to the hospital to get bandaged and in the following days, I don't need to tell you what kind of care I received. I don't want to compare but the truth cannot be hidden, my uncle loved and cared for me a billion times more than the father on the A4 paper. How can I forget when my father just left, I was bitten by a dog and my skin was bleeding, I was impatient to get vaccinated but he only gave me a carton of Milo and that was the end of his duty. But I wished I was bitten by a dog again so that my father would love me.

***

That year, during the Covid-19 pandemic, students could not go to school and instead had to study online. My mother gave me an old laptop. It was so old that the images and the teacher's lectures could not go together. My uncle secretly monitored every class I had. Realizing the problem, he worked hard all afternoon to fix it. My mother told me to eat dinner because it was already dinner. Without stopping, my uncle immediately scolded my mother: "Fix the computer in time for tomorrow's class, why cook?"

The machine was fine, but I learned to cope. The result was deserved, from a good student to an average one. I made my uncle angry. He decided to be my "tutor" to save the situation. The devil take me, I had never been so afraid of words and numbers as I was at that moment. Having to sit and listen to lectures, scratching my head and pulling my hair with exercises that made me want to breathe oxygen, I couldn't stand it. I thought quickly. So I waited until my uncle and mother went to take a nap, then "escaped".

Cycling on the highway, against the wind. No one can imagine a 7th grader cycling more than 40 km in the rain to go home to his grandparents. Thinking about the scoldings like: studying like this will make me beg on the streets in the future, from now on, my phone will be confiscated, I will only use my mother’s computer if I have to study online, give less money for snacks, don’t let me hang out with friends anymore… to gain more strength, I definitely have to escape that strictness, it’s too much pressure.

I don't need anyone to tell me how restless my mother and uncle were at that moment, they must have fainted repeatedly. That night, I confidently suggested that I would stay with my grandmother, but the arrow missed its target...

3. It was my biological father who drove me home. Sitting on the same tiny saddle, I felt the distance between him and me was so great.

The car drove to the turn, probably because he was afraid to face my mother and uncle (because he had not given me a single thousand in child support since I was young), my father left me on the street to go in by himself. "I'm in a hurry", he said without any remorse and did not have time or did not want to look at my sad face. I stood there hesitating, it suddenly started to rain, I pulled the hood of my coat up to cover my head. I put my foot forward, I don't know why it was stiff. I understood, my feet also felt ashamed. How could I dare to enter the house. If my uncle would just slap me or crack a whip to punish me, but I knew it would only be silence. I didn't have enough courage to face those eyes.

I trudged down to the square in the rain. As I walked, I saw Phuc being carried by his mother, but I covered my head so you probably wouldn’t recognize him. There was a low pressure, no wonder the square was deserted. I went to the porch of the square stage and curled up on a stone bench. A coat wasn’t enough to keep me warm when the wind blew from all sides. Right now, I didn’t have the strength to think of anything good. I would lie here and cry until I died. Tomorrow morning, when the rain stopped, the people exercising would see a poor child who died not because of the cold rain but because of the lack of love from his father. Thinking like that, I was no longer afraid and cried even harder than the rain…

Just then the car lights hit my face, my mother rushed over, and my uncle from afar asked if I was okay, then took off his coat and put it on me, telling me to get in the car and go home, it was cold. I didn't want to get in the car, I stood still, my two small hands tightly held my uncle's strong arms, suddenly I burst out in sobs: "Dad, I'm sorry...". When we got home, the storm suddenly got stronger. Let the rain and wind continue. I accepted it. Because I believed that even if the sky fell, there would still be a giant hand to protect me. "Long live Dad!", I whispered into my mother's ear and smiled and fell asleep...

Source: https://thanhnien.vn/bo-oi-truyen-ngan-du-thi-cua-bao-kha-185251025081547288.htm