I move to let others pass by us as I’m standing next to the filled bar stools. This is a busy place tonight. And with it being skiing season, the hotels are all booked and there are long lines to get on a lift, rent equipment, and buy food.
I watch Papa share a laugh with some young women at the next table, but I know he’s only playing around. He never had eyes for anyone but Mama.
I wonder where he really goes when he leaves for his construction job, especially when he owns no tools. As a kid, I picked up on the discrepancies, but I gave him his privacy. He’s an imposing man, used to getting his way and he is old school —not just any woman could be with him.
However, I’m not sure I can trust the man I’ve known my entire life, especially after he calls people to fix things that break in our condo. Shouldn’t he know how to fix stuff if he’s in construction? He gets annoyed when I point this out, so I drop it. But the jig is up.
I know he does something to make money, but he never talks about it. Whatever it is involves odd hours with no set schedules or predictable routines. I guess this vacation is as predictable as it comes when dealing with him.
There are plenty of nights when Besnik delivers Papa home after too many drinks. I think he’s drinking too much, and I’m worried about him. It can’t all be from missing Mama.
I smile and make conversation, doing what is expected. I’m expected to be happy and complacent, so I am. . . until I notice an older man at the far end of the bar staring at me. It’s creeping me out; he has a pretty woman on his arm and others around him, but he only has eyes for me.
Sure he’s dressed nice, but I can tell there is something off about him and I excuse myself as soon as I’ve finished my drink, giving Papa and Besnik a hug and kiss. Heading to my room, I look over my shoulder more than twice to make sure no one is following me. Papa taught me to trust my instincts and my instinct is telling me to put some distance between me and the creepy dude.
Ihear thuds in my sleep. I fight the noise. I come through, barely conscious and fist are pounding on my door. Someone in my semi-conscious dream is trying to wake me and the shouting and thuds are killing my dreams. I was in a garden, picking flowers for a vase on the table before a rainstorm on the horizon rolled through.
Ah, I’ve always wanted to walk out a front door and have my bare feet land in grass. That’s why it’s a dream. It will never happen as we live in a city filled with condos but I’d love a house in the country so I can have a garden.
My unconscious mind awakens, and I realize the noise is coming from my bedroom door. I open my eyes and the room is still dark. Even with the blinds drawn, I expect some morning light to filter in. I’m confused. What time is it? It must still be nighttime. I turn on the bedside lamp and grab a sweater to throw over my nightgown.
I can hear Besnik is on the other side of the door speaking rapidly in Albanian.
“What? Papa? What are you saying? He can’t be gone. He’s downstairs,” I reply, unlocking my door as quickly as possible.
Besnik throws the door open and takes me by the shoulders, obviously in shock but still animated as he continues to repeat himself and he slightly shakes me to impress upon me the fact this isn’t a fire drill.
His face is pale and his eyes bloodshot. He’s drunk and struggling to form sentences. He can’t be right. Papa can’t be dead. I just saw him. Surely this is a mistake.
“Hold on, okay?” I return to grab my robe and rush to keep up with him on his way to the elevator.
We step off the elevator and make our way towards the hotel bar, where there is a group of people milling around.
We get to an area cordoned off with police tape and surrounded by spectators looking over each other’s shoulders to get a glimpse of something. The lights have been turned up and are much brighter than they were before.
Men in suits are interviewing some couples at a nearby table. I assume they are detectives. It feels like I’m in an episode of the American TV showLaw and Order.
Papa is on the ground, only I can’t get to him. Besnik is explaining he just dropped when I catch my first good look at Papa. I find he’s covered in a sheet, they then put him in a body bag before he’s lifted by men in paper suits and booties. He’s being wheeled on a gurney and out the door without a word to anyone.
“Papa!” I yell as if it would change anything, but I can’t stop myself. This can’t be right, they must have the wrong person. Shockwaves of terror hit me like a small earthquake, tremors follow, I shiver, then shake. A few at first, then more until I understand that this is real and not a delusion. Tears begin to well up in my eyes as reality erases my groggy state of interrupted brain fog.
I’m in a tunnel where someone is speaking but it’s garbled, and nothing registers as yet another man in uniform approaches me to try again. I can’t comprehend. Not because he’s speaking a foreign language. It’s more like I’m watching a movie and the soundtrack is off.
The uniform man steps in front of me to prevent me from getting to my father. I can see over his shoulder that they’re taking my father away and I get one last glimpse of him being wheeled out before he’s out of sight.
This is a nightmare. . . Papa wouldn’t abandon me.
Besnik pulls me away from the uniformed officer to wrap his arms around me.
“It can’t be him, Besnik, it can’t.”
“I know, I know. I was with him. He just passed out. It took a minute for me to realize it wasn’t normal and he wasn’t breathing.”
His voice is slightly slurred, strong alcohol is still on his breath.
“What. . . what happened?” I ask, my face buried in his soft cable knit sweater. I feel safe in his thick arms and solid chest. He’s a big man but by no means is he obese.
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait for more information.” He holds me tight as he tells me he’s so sorry and not to worry.