White Feathers

by Sarah J. Calvo

The night after my daughter turned six, her mother died in my arms. Heart failure, they

said. She was thirty-two. I don’t know why it happened, but I know that I’ll never go into that

restaurant again. It’s only been two days and Aurora still doesn’t know. She thinks mommy

went to check on grandma after our date that night, but today I’m planning to tell her.

I get out of bed, and throw an old shirt on. Without thinking, I grab my ring too. I stop.

The metal feels colder against my fingertips than I remember. I slide it down, feeling it chock

my finger. Silver, standing out on my black hand, with our initials engraved in the inside. A

cliché, I know, but that’s one thing I loved about her – she was always sappy romantic. Don’t cry

now, don’t you dare cry... I close my eyes. I see her. I open them. She’s gone. Again. Instead, our

daughter is jumping up and down at our bedroom door, to see I’m awake and up and if

breakfast is next on my agenda.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daaaaady!” She hops up and down still, and so did the little white

bunnies on her slippers, flying and falling with her.

“Yes, daddy’s coming. Give me a sec.”

I caught her eyes glancing at our bed.

“When does mommy come home? I miss her. Don’t you?”

“Yes, of course daddy does. But for now, what do you want to eat?”

“Can I have pink pancakes? Pleeeease?!!”

 “Whatever you want, baby girl.”

She smiles so big like the time she was in Disneyworld. When her mother was with us.

How could she be so happy? She dances away in her pink pjs like a princess. Her hair so

beautiful, perfectly straight. Like her mother’s. I follow her into the kitchen and start taking out

all the ingredients for her pancakes.

“Hey, sweetie! Any idea where your mother keeps the food coloring?” Shit, I mentioned

her. Maybe she…

“Mommy keeps the colors next to the spices! Daddy, why don’t you just call her up so

she could come home and make them for us?”

My heart broke. I felt my eyes falling out of my skull. What the fuck do I say? I couldn’t

hold it in, but. I have to. She needs to be happy as long as possible.

“Sweetie, I can’t.” My voice croaked. I think she notices.

“Oh…well, why not?” Her head bent to a left, like a cat. Like a beautiful, innocent cat.

“Um…here, how about we sit down and talk for a minute?” I look at the purple vase on

the counter. Her mother’s vase. I felt Aurora’s eyes on me. I look at the hardwood floor. Maple

cherry – her choice. Fuck, even when she’s gone, she’s not really gone. It hasn’t even been that

long. I can’t move. I can’t think. I can’t fucking breathe.

“Daddy? Are…are you ok?”

“What? Yes, daddy’s… fine.” I finally look at her. Those big emerald eyes. Just like her

mother’s. I swallow my pain, but. I could still feel it.

“You know…how….I tell you, about…your mom?” My eyes were flooded. I could barely

see my own daughter.

 “Yeaaah. About her gone? Like my birdie?” Her voice. Just like her mother’s when she

was younger, when we were high school sweethearts. And that bird. A little white parakeet her

mother picked out for her on her fifth birthday, and found it lifeless at the bottom of the cage.

The food bowl was empty. That was a week and my daughter seems to stop grieving over it, but

a bird isn’t the same as a person. A mother. How easy it would be to have wings and just fly

away from disaster. But I’m a father, a black father at that, so I can’t. Aurora needs me.

I look back at her. “Yes, that. Well…” I swallow. The lump is still there. I wanted to die.

Why couldn’t we have left all together? A accident on our trip from Disneyworld? “Your

mom…she isn’t…with us.” The wall I’ve tried to build up the past couple days finally broke. I

probably look like Will Smith crying in Pursuit of Happyness. I couldn’t let my daughter see me

like this, but I already felt her hand holding mine. Her skin is much lighter, but not as fair as her

mother’s. Or her white slipper bunnies. I found myself on the floor with them.

“Daddy, it’s ok. Mommy says its ok for boys to cry.”

“No, baby girl. Stop. Please stop…I can’t. She’s gone baby, she’s gone.”

Aurora is on me, holding me with her entire body. Just like her mother.

“But, daddy, she’s only in grandma’s house! What do you mean she’s gone? Daddy,

you’re scaring me!” I grab her face and kiss our foreheads together and close my eyes. My

hands run through her hair. She’s so lucky she doesn’t have Afro-style hair. I hate the smell of

cocoa butter, but I loved the smell of the cucumber shampoo she used to use. It’s still in the

shower. My waterfall is ruining the floor. Her floor.

“Daddy? Daddy, what if you pet my bird? Snow White helps me when I’m sad. Mommy

too.”
 “No, baby, your bird is slee..um, gone. She’s gone too.” I lifted my head to look into her

eyes. Like rainforests in Costa Rica. Her mother’s home. So why do I not feel like I’m home?

“I know, but sleeping isn’t a bad thing, is it? I mean, Snow White and mommy and aren’t

really gone gone, right?”

English. The language were gone could mean so many things. But I’m not a teacher, so I

can’t explain it to her. I’m broken everywhere. Somehow, I feel a pull. A tiny tug from Aurora. I

managed to slowly get up without pulling my daughter.

“So?”

I tried to wipe away all the sadness from my face before I reply, “So what?”

“Sooo…they aren’t really gone, are they?” She’s getting sassy. I could hear it in her

voice. The only thing she got from her dad.

“No, baby girl. Well, yes. But. It’s different types of gone. They aren’t really here, but I

guess if you love them enough, they don’t really leave…does that make any sense?”

“I think so. But Snow White isn’t gone. She knows I love her, cuz I tell her every night

before I go to sleep. And mommy used to say that to me too.”

“Yes but. Wait.” I stared at her. “Snow White was, started sleeping…died a few days ago.

Snow White is dead, we talked about this. You still say good night to her?”

“She’s my pet. Mommy said I have to take care of her until death.” Her expression was

far from somber than he had expected.

“Baby girl, Snow White…has reached her death. You understand?” She doesn’t know it

was her fault she forgot to feed it, but. I’m not about tell my little girl that.
 Her eyes looked for reassurance somewhere on the floor. Just like her mother. “Yes, but.

I wanna take care of her until she’s completely gone. Is that ok?”

At this point, I don’t know what’s going on. I want to wake up. I want this nightmare to

be over, but I push through. “If that’s what you want. Just know your bird…and now your

mom…won’t come back to us. Your mom…too. Ok?”

Aurora runs up, wraps her little arms around my legs, and looks up. “I know daddy. I

know.” She smiles. Her teeth are so white, it’s beautiful. I never realized how much she looked

like her mother. I need to get my mind off of her, before I weep like that again. I know she’s not

getting anything I’m saying, but I’m hoping it’ll soak in. I grab her small waist and lift her in the

air to give her kisses on her face, and an explosion of laughter came pouring out.

Maybe…maybe this could work. Maybe I got this. I smiled a little smile, just enough for her to

think I’ll be ok today.

*****

After a few hours of crying on my own in the bathroom before I somehow managed to

make the promised pink pancakes, we watched all her favorite Disney movies. Her mother

loved Walt Disney, and of course the Disney magic was passed down a generation. One after

another after another, hours and hours of princesses all had happy endings. All but one. I

decided to put on The Princess and the Frog since it’s pretty much the only animated movie that

takes place in my hometown. It’s also the only movie with a princess that looks kind of like her.

A dark girl in a white world. I get up to get more popcorn, but the phone rings. With the volume

all the way up, she didn’t notice. I look at the caller ID. It’s the funeral home, so I don’t answer.
Instead I continue searching for the popcorn in the cupboards, and then decide to search

elsewhere. Walking towards the pantry, I notice the window. It’s already dark. She wouldn’t like

that it’s pass her bedtime…

I go back to the living room. The phone rings again, and I don’t answer again. I’m not

ready to plan my wife’s funeral. The movie’s credits are rolling, and Aurora’s eyes are trying to

decide whether or not to stay open or close, probably because of the phone’s constant call. The

call of death. I quietly go to her and gently shake her arm.

“Baby girl, I think we should go to sleep now, alright?”

She stretches and yawns as if to agree. I grab her head and kiss her on the forehead.

“Goodnight. Daddy loves you.”

“Goodnight. I love you too daddy.” She walks into her room, and I follow right behind

her.

From the door opened ajar, I watched her move the bed sheets out of the way. I always

watched her go to bed whenever I was worried about her, especially a time like tonight. She

moved her pillow and carefully cupped her hands to carry something. What is it? She walked

closer to the door, her dresser just to the right. I leaned back a little so she wouldn’t notice me.

The moment I move, a smell reaches where I am. I squint and watch my daughter. The thing in

her hand seemed to be something white, and she opened the bottom drawer of the dresser. Oh

no. I saw it. There was my daughter, gently place her bird in one of her Barbie’s plastic beds,

and covered his little white body with the little white bed sheet – all but the head.

“You’re so perfect when your dead. Goodnight, Snow White. I love you, too.” she

whispers, and kisses her head. The albino parakeet’s eyes were slightly open still, bruising decay
circling them. I quietly close the door. She knew? Did she…starve her bird on purpose?

Fuck…What have I done?