I imagine that when my Dad pushed me, he immediately realized he had shoved too hard. Some combination of the crunch and snap must have tipped him off. I’m aware of just how uncomfortable it is to see a child cry; the quiet sniffling and big, somber eyes before the storm breaks and silence shatters are off-putting — no one wants to be the one around when that first-grade dam breaks. I know that, as someone sworn to do no harm, staring down at harm done must be like realizing you served your boss coffee that your snot-nosed kid sneezed in. I’m sure that when he locked himself in the bathroom, fear had wiggled in through one of his ears and wrapped around his brain stem like a doting parasite. I’m certain that watching me be escorted by paramedics would have been watching a death knell toll. I imagine the policewoman’s voice was a ghost of a horrifying future hovering over the head of “one of the good immigrants.” I know the days in prison were embittering; I can guess that he thought this was all some grand plan — the police being called was a mother’s vengeance against a father whose eyes did not shine on what they’d made together. I know his lawyer assured him he could spin a prison sentence, a declaration against family, as torment unto an only child. I imagine more than I remember the anger from after his release: it pulsed under every too-loud laugh, every reprimanding touch, every flat smile. If I could remember, I don’t have to imagine the strain it would lace my voice with whenever I see him to assure my college costs are paid.
Emmanuela Eneh is an English major and member of the BA/MA program. Although she has been obsessed with fiction writing ever since watching “Avatar: The Last Airbender” as a child, she began delving into poetry and non-fiction during her junior and senior years. She has found these mediums to be incredibly therapeutic methods of telling the story of what makes her up as an individual. She enjoys tabletop role-playing games, reading fanfiction, and playing video games.