I was fired from my grocery store job for “ignoring” my boss while wearing headphones. What he didn’t know was why I had them on — or that someone else was watching. The next morning, a stranger arrived at my home with a large truck and an unbelievable offer.
Being a single dad is tough, but when your child has special needs, it adds a whole new challenge to the mix. My daughter was born blind. Since she was old enough to talk, we’ve had a little ritual we do every night: I retell her a cartoon episode.
Ella settled into her place on the couch, legs folded, staring ahead with unseeing eyes. I turned toward her and adjusted the cushion behind my back. I described the way the animated town woke up — garage doors lifting, vehicles lining up, the team of rescue pups gathering at the base of the tower.
I talked through the colors slowly, because once she’d asked me what red looked like, and it had taken most of an evening to find an answer that satisfied her.
She listened without moving. I explained how one of the pups leaned forward when he was eager, how another always rushed and stumbled, but laughed it off. I told her about the rescue vehicles, the way they rolled into place, the expressions on their faces when the alarm sounded.
She interrupted when she needed to.
“Was the flyer in the air yet?”
“Not yet,” I said. “She’s still on the ground, helmet on, checking the wind.”
I glanced at the scrap of paper in my hand. My notes crowded every inch and included quick sketches of movement and arrows pointing to moments I knew she liked.
I slowed when she asked me to. I repeated sections without rushing. When I finished, she didn’t say anything right away. Then she leaned back against me.
“I could picture it,” she said. I brushed my lips against the top of her head and inhaled the faint trace of her shampoo. Strawberry.
The cheap kind we bought because it lasted longer. “Do you want a new episode tomorrow night?” I asked. She nodded once.
“Don’t forget.”
How could I forget? This was the best part of my day. Little did I know, one mistake would allow someone to turn our ritual against me. The next morning, I looked through the episodes of her favorite cartoon for one I hadn’t narrated for her yet while riding the bus to work.
I work in a grocery store.
During my lunch breaks, I can usually be found hunched over my cheap tablet in the backroom, binging cartoons for Ella. One day, I settled into the metal folding chair we kept by the lockers like usual, headphones in, notebook open. I was just getting through the opening theme music when I sensed someone standing behind me.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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