//creative//
Spring 2019
Spring 2019
Papa
Noah Avigan
Papa was coming home and the house needed to be prepared. Mama put dinner in the microwave and, in the two minutes allotted, walked towards the lamp in the living room. The light bulbs had been broken two days earlier, and the only light in the house came from a single, exposed bulb in the kitchen. Sitting on the couch, I watched Mama’s shadow shrink as she approached me until it disappeared into the floor under her feet.
“Jacob,” she said, crouching under the lamp shade, “Why don’t you help your sister find the fresh bulbs?”
I walked over to my room where Dina was sifting through the closet. “You can’t see a thing in here,” I said, announcing my presence.
“Maybe if we get that lamp in the living room working we’ll get a little more light. Mama said the bulbs are in here somewhere.”
“You can never see anything in this room anyways.”
“Well, either way, Mama asked for the bulbs. Once your eyes adjust you can—”
“They’re way up on the top shelf,” I interrupted, shoving her aside. “I don’t think any amount of light could help you reach it, Dina.”
I stood on my tip toes and groped for a small box, grinning as my hand made contact. The microwave was beeping now, Mama was back in the kitchen, and I replaced her on the couch. Removing the first bulb, I cupped its round surface in my hand and wondered whether I could crush it if I squeezed hard enough.
I think what made me hate these preparations most was how passionless they always felt. Only when Papa came home did the house seem to come alive, did people even start paying attention. As I screwed in the bulbs, I frequently turned towards the window to watch for his car pulling in the driveway. I hoped I could announce his arrival—with a mention of Papa I would command the attention of the whole house.
Before I could test the new bulbs, a powerful light beamed at me through the window. As the headlights pulled into the driveway, my eyes glued to the wall behind me, where my shadow slowly grew larger and larger. I slid off the couch and stood up tall, my shaking legs looking steadier on the steady wall. I watched it until my head almost reached the ceiling, like Papa’s did. “Jacob, Dina,” Mama reminded us, “time to go to sleep.”
The whole house listened as the front door swung open and Papa stepped inside. Lying in bed, I pulled the blanket up to my chin, just covering the bruises on my collar bone and shoulders from the last time. His feet pounded in the living room and, sweating, I buried myself further. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to picture my growing shadow on the wall. Its feet would boom like that, like Papa’s did. I listened, biting my lip in fear and anticipation.
“Jacob,” she said, crouching under the lamp shade, “Why don’t you help your sister find the fresh bulbs?”
I walked over to my room where Dina was sifting through the closet. “You can’t see a thing in here,” I said, announcing my presence.
“Maybe if we get that lamp in the living room working we’ll get a little more light. Mama said the bulbs are in here somewhere.”
“You can never see anything in this room anyways.”
“Well, either way, Mama asked for the bulbs. Once your eyes adjust you can—”
“They’re way up on the top shelf,” I interrupted, shoving her aside. “I don’t think any amount of light could help you reach it, Dina.”
I stood on my tip toes and groped for a small box, grinning as my hand made contact. The microwave was beeping now, Mama was back in the kitchen, and I replaced her on the couch. Removing the first bulb, I cupped its round surface in my hand and wondered whether I could crush it if I squeezed hard enough.
I think what made me hate these preparations most was how passionless they always felt. Only when Papa came home did the house seem to come alive, did people even start paying attention. As I screwed in the bulbs, I frequently turned towards the window to watch for his car pulling in the driveway. I hoped I could announce his arrival—with a mention of Papa I would command the attention of the whole house.
Before I could test the new bulbs, a powerful light beamed at me through the window. As the headlights pulled into the driveway, my eyes glued to the wall behind me, where my shadow slowly grew larger and larger. I slid off the couch and stood up tall, my shaking legs looking steadier on the steady wall. I watched it until my head almost reached the ceiling, like Papa’s did. “Jacob, Dina,” Mama reminded us, “time to go to sleep.”
The whole house listened as the front door swung open and Papa stepped inside. Lying in bed, I pulled the blanket up to my chin, just covering the bruises on my collar bone and shoulders from the last time. His feet pounded in the living room and, sweating, I buried myself further. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to picture my growing shadow on the wall. Its feet would boom like that, like Papa’s did. I listened, biting my lip in fear and anticipation.
//NOAH AVIGAN is a sophomore in Columbia College and Deputy Creative Editor of The Current. He can be reached at [email protected].