01/22/2023
"Astrid & Dad", a short story by Adrien Leduc
“I’m building a rocket ship.”
That was it, just like that, she said it just like that, like it was the most normal, natural thing in the world for an eight year old to construct a rocket ship. Now, as everyone knows very well, eight year olds don’t build rocket ships. Not functioning rocket ships at least. Rocket ships made from blocks and playdough and modelling clay, sure, but a rocket ship worthy of sending up into the sky?
John watched the young girl with a smile on his face. His daughter was growing up to be a fine young woman. Plucky, wily, smiley. The spitting image of her mother, Poinsettia, who was, at this very hour, hard at work as always, caring for those most elderly and infirm members of our community at the Rivercrest Care Lodge.
“Do you think it will fly, dad?”
John was quick to nod in the affirmative and to make sure his eyes conveyed the same.
“Of course, Astrid. Why shouldn’t it?”
“Because…” Astrid shrugged, eyeing her creation, “it’s not very big.”
“It doesn’t have to be big to fly,” said John with a wry smile. “Why, if anything, I should think it would have a much better chance of flying being only two feet tall.”
“But all the rocket ships I see on T.V. are really big,” said the girl, spreading her arms as wide as she could. “Like, really, really, really, really big.”
John chuckled. “Well, I think it will fly all the same.”
“How do we make it fly then?”
John sighed, not out of exasperation or annoyance, but out of fatigue, for the pills he’d taken an hour earlier had, as always, made him feel rather drowsy and lethargic, and now his daughter was wanting his help with something he would normally have been quite capable of helping with, but in his present condition he was quite unable.
“Are you tired, dad?”
John sighed again, closed his eyes, and opened them again after a moment. “I am. But I’ll do my best to help,” he added, grimacing as he stood up from the couch.
The sutures on his abdomen, clearly marking the spot from whence the doctors had removed his appendix two weeks prior, were still red and hot and angry and burned every time he stood up from a seated or supine position.
“It’s best we start on the computer. Have a look on the internet and see if we can find a video or some instructions.”
Astrid was positively beaming now. “Okay, dad!”
John smiled as he trudged towards their small home office, a tiny closet-sized room wedged firmly between the kitchen and the living room and separated from the latter by way of an Oriental screen and a tall metal filing cabinet.
“Can I do it?” asked Astrid, indicating the computer. For an eight year old, she was rather adept with the device.
John smiled. “Of course.”
Astrid pressed the large round button on the front of the tower and before long John was standing over the keyboard typing in whatever one would type in to learn how to send a rocket into the sky.
“There…okay…maybe…”
Astrid watched her father, a man whose appearance belied his forty-two years, no doubt due to the healthy lifestyle that he and Poinsettia both followed with a good diet, plenty of exercise, and ample sleep. The present period, in which John had undergone his appendectomy, being a unique exception.
“Okay, good, yes, here we go,” he said eventually, “that’s what we need.”
“What? What is it?” asked Astrid, leaning in closer so that she too could see what her father was looking at.
“Rocket fuel.”
“What’s rocket fuel?”
“It’s the stuff that makes rockets fly,” answered John, and truth be told he didn’t know how else to answer, not being well-versed in such things.
“Can we get some?”
John nodded as he tapped away at the keyboard and clicked the mouse a few times.
“I’m ordering it now.”
“Yay!” exclaimed Astrid.
“It’ll take a few days to get here though,” John added.
“That’s fine,” said Astrid, looking quite content. “I’ve got to paint it anyway.”
John nodded sagely. “Very well. Let’s get you set up with the paint then.”
“Do we have paint?”
“Of course,” said John.
“Yay! Where?”
“In mommy’s craft cupboard.”
“Okay! I’ll go get it!”
John smiled after his daughter as she hurried from the room. Yes, she was growing up. Of course, she was still his little girl, but she wasn’t so little anymore. She had big hopes and dreams and ambitions and a big imagination to match. His eyes drifted to the photos stuck with magnets to the side of the tall metal filing cabinet that towered over his desk. Wedding photos, baby photos, graduation photos, and everything in between. His appendix scare had been a wake-up call, a much needed wake-up call, and while he’d initially been annoyed by the recovery timeline his doctor had given him, this past week at home with Astrid was probably the most precious he’d had in a while.
“Dad? Can you help? I can’t get the lid off!”
Clicking off the light he winced again, but it seemed to pain him a little less now, as he shuffled back to the living room.
