Just a minute

She threw a chubby finger in the air, looked me in the eye, and said "just a minute, dad... Wait just a minute". And walked out of the room. Leaving me without many options other than to just... wait a minute. I feel this odd sensation, like what just happened is a precursor to something that may happen many times over the coming years.

I am a grown man. I have responsibilities. I shave. I have authority (sort of). I like to think I have some measure of control when it comes to my ability to self express. And I am powerless. Reduced to a shadow of my Grownup Self.

She melts me. I am gone, but fully there. Lost in time, but so in tune to the moment that this room becomes the center of everything. She doesn’t always get her way. I love her too much for that. But when she looks me in the eye and says “just a minute, dad”… I give her her minute.

I don’t like giving up control. I am at least that self aware, that I know this. I don’t care though… she has me, and it’s okay.

But there’s something else. Something tugging at the edges of my consciousness, something that I’m not okay with. It’s hard to put my finger on it at first, but then it hits me. Washes over me in waves of mixed emotion. She just talked to me. She told me to wait, give her a minute. How did this happen? Yesterday she was sleeping 18 hours a day, and the day before that she wasn’t even born. Where did this girl come from? The question rattles me, but not as much as the implication of the next question… where is she going? I want to slow things down, to freeze this moment. I don’t like this kind of powerless. My throat feels dry and thick. Time stands still, just for a few seconds. Tomorrow pulls at my sleeve…

She’s telling me about her day. She talks about school. She loves her new bike. She wants to wear make up. We go to the movies and share popcorn. I forget about the screen and just watch her. We go for a walk, and she tells me about this boy she met. I hold onto something to keep my hands from shaking. She asks me to give him a chance. I look away so she can’t see the look on my face. She asks the unthinkable, wonders if I would be willing to give her to someone else.

I wake from my reverie, and time starts back up. I look around me, and find the room just as I left it. Dolls in the baby bed. Ribbons and bows. A pile of picture books. I resolve to read every one of them out loud, 1,000 times over. I know that time will not stand still again. Not for me, or anyone else. But I’m going to stay awake. I refuse to waste a moment. I’ll slow it down when I can, if I can. My eyes drift to the door, the door she just walked out of. I can hear the noise her bare feet make as they tromp down the hall. I rise, and call after her…

“Just a minute, girl. Wait just a minute…”

© Joshua Dufek, 2012