An old man gripped his white cane tightly, tapping the ground as he walked down a narrow path. The cane knocked against something, and the man tapped around. Discovering it was a bench, he sat down, relishing his surroundings. He felt the breeze wash over him, carrying a hint of sea salt. The sun warmed his skin as he heard waves crash on the beach across the path.
Something knocked his leg and he picked it up, realizing from its familiar texture that it was a soccer ball.
“Can I have that?” asked a girl standing nearby.
“Sure, here’s your soccer ball,” the man said, arms extended in the direction of her voice.
“How’d you know it’s a soccer ball?” the girl asked, taking the ball.
“Dorothy, come back!” shouted a voice from farther away.
“Yes, Mom!”
The footsteps resumed, fading away, but the man didn’t care. His heart plummeted into his stomach, a million memories flooding his head, triggered by that name: Dorothy. There were sudden flashes of a young girl playing in the man’s backyard, dribbling a soccer ball on her knees. That same girl, begging for a piggyback ride, calling out to her father: him.
Suddenly he saw something blue appear in the dark vacancy of his mind, and he realized it was the sea. The view expanded until he could see everything around him. The sky was filled with hues of pink and orange falling into each other, the sun beginning to set. The man gaped in awe, his surroundings so vivid and clear. Seagulls swooped through the sky as people relaxed on the beach. Tears welled in his eyes. It had been so long since he’d lost his vision, he had forgotten what seeing looked like.
“Isn’t this a beautiful day?” asked the voice of a girl to his left.
The man froze, stifling a sob. It had been years, but he would always recognize that voice. My Dorothy!
He turned and saw his daughter sitting next to him, holding an ice cream cone while wearing her favorite number 9 jersey, the same as her idol, Mia Hamm. Dorothy smiled while burying her mouth in the ice cream, and the man remembered how he would wipe her mouth afterward.
“Dorothy,” he whispered. He reached out slowly to pat her auburn hair, but stopped for fear the vision would disappear. With a glitter scrunchie in her hair, Dorothy startlingly resembled her late mother, whom she often missed and cried over. The man recalled painfully how he would spend long nights wiping away Dorothy’s tears, coaxing her to sleep.
“Dad, look at the rocks by the side of the beach,” Dorothy said, lips smeared with ice cream. “They look like dog ears!”
The man turned and saw the waves crashing on the rocks, the sun glowing on their shiny surface. Before, he wouldn’t have cared much, but everything looked ineffably magical when he was with his precious daughter. Yet he was constantly reminded of her body on that hospital bed: the sound of the flatlining monitor reverberating in his ears, pronouncing her death so deafeningly it could not be denied, however hard he tried. He felt a desperate, visceral longing deep in his chest as he recalled that terrible moment.
“Let’s come back next year. It’ll be our thing!”
Dorothy turned, and the man expected to see her face; instead, all he saw was a blur. He realized everything had become hazy, as if veiled by fog.
“Wait!” he begged, trying to hold Dorothy before she disappeared.
It was too late. He’d almost touched her when she vanished. The rest of the beach also faded away until all he could see was that familiar darkness.
The man slowly leaned back onto the bench, still disoriented by the vision, conjuring up memories long buried. Gradually he put himself back together again, listening to the sounds of the world. But there was one voice that stood out, and he realized it was his daughter’s, whispering farewell. Daddy, I love you.
The man smiled sadly at those words. He realized his Dorothy was still with him, living in their happy past. She lived on, unforgotten by the heart, a beautiful memory in his mind.
Something knocked his leg and he picked it up, realizing from its familiar texture that it was a soccer ball.
“Can I have that?” asked a girl standing nearby.
“Sure, here’s your soccer ball,” the man said, arms extended in the direction of her voice.
“How’d you know it’s a soccer ball?” the girl asked, taking the ball.
“Dorothy, come back!” shouted a voice from farther away.
“Yes, Mom!”
The footsteps resumed, fading away, but the man didn’t care. His heart plummeted into his stomach, a million memories flooding his head, triggered by that name: Dorothy. There were sudden flashes of a young girl playing in the man’s backyard, dribbling a soccer ball on her knees. That same girl, begging for a piggyback ride, calling out to her father: him.
Suddenly he saw something blue appear in the dark vacancy of his mind, and he realized it was the sea. The view expanded until he could see everything around him. The sky was filled with hues of pink and orange falling into each other, the sun beginning to set. The man gaped in awe, his surroundings so vivid and clear. Seagulls swooped through the sky as people relaxed on the beach. Tears welled in his eyes. It had been so long since he’d lost his vision, he had forgotten what seeing looked like.
“Isn’t this a beautiful day?” asked the voice of a girl to his left.
The man froze, stifling a sob. It had been years, but he would always recognize that voice. My Dorothy!
He turned and saw his daughter sitting next to him, holding an ice cream cone while wearing her favorite number 9 jersey, the same as her idol, Mia Hamm. Dorothy smiled while burying her mouth in the ice cream, and the man remembered how he would wipe her mouth afterward.
“Dorothy,” he whispered. He reached out slowly to pat her auburn hair, but stopped for fear the vision would disappear. With a glitter scrunchie in her hair, Dorothy startlingly resembled her late mother, whom she often missed and cried over. The man recalled painfully how he would spend long nights wiping away Dorothy’s tears, coaxing her to sleep.
“Dad, look at the rocks by the side of the beach,” Dorothy said, lips smeared with ice cream. “They look like dog ears!”
The man turned and saw the waves crashing on the rocks, the sun glowing on their shiny surface. Before, he wouldn’t have cared much, but everything looked ineffably magical when he was with his precious daughter. Yet he was constantly reminded of her body on that hospital bed: the sound of the flatlining monitor reverberating in his ears, pronouncing her death so deafeningly it could not be denied, however hard he tried. He felt a desperate, visceral longing deep in his chest as he recalled that terrible moment.
“Let’s come back next year. It’ll be our thing!”
Dorothy turned, and the man expected to see her face; instead, all he saw was a blur. He realized everything had become hazy, as if veiled by fog.
“Wait!” he begged, trying to hold Dorothy before she disappeared.
It was too late. He’d almost touched her when she vanished. The rest of the beach also faded away until all he could see was that familiar darkness.
The man slowly leaned back onto the bench, still disoriented by the vision, conjuring up memories long buried. Gradually he put himself back together again, listening to the sounds of the world. But there was one voice that stood out, and he realized it was his daughter’s, whispering farewell. Daddy, I love you.
The man smiled sadly at those words. He realized his Dorothy was still with him, living in their happy past. She lived on, unforgotten by the heart, a beautiful memory in his mind.