“You little idiot!” I remember this day so vividly. In front of me was a paper, covered in x’s and a 64%. It was the first time I remember being seen as a proper failure. Unable to look up from the table, I could feel him gnashing his teeth. “I went over this with you, didn’t I?! How the hell is that not enough for you?!” I bite my tongue, afraid to try to answer. His twitching fingers tell me just what he’ll say if I do. “GET OUT!!” He screamed at me, and I ran as fast as I could, feeling tears welling in my eyes. It was my second month of first grade, and I had vowed since then that I would never get another bad grade.

Never, or, as close to never as I could get. It didn’t matter anyways. As time passed, I would just become even more of an embarrassment of a child. Not cleaning something properly. Not keeping a job. Not working out. Not having what he believed was common sense. Every step I took was another failure in his eyes. Yelling. Screaming. Educating. It began to…define me. I was everything he said I was, cause that kind of acceptance was easier than trying to believe in myself. At least that way I didn’t have to think. If I could say anything nice about what he made my life, I could at least say it was predictable.

And then he died. It took months for him to really give in. He was…persistent like that, but eventually it did him in. I can hardly bother recalling what it was. It never seemed all that important. All I remember thinking when it was explained was the simple fact that he was dying, and how much that hurt. For reasons I couldn’t understand, I felt on the verge of tears whenever I considered the situation. Why? Why did I care even a little bit? Isn’t he the one who’s been making me feel like a worthless nobody? Have I just accepted that he was always right?

“I have to tell you something.”

That hill. That day. It was just like every other. He had gotten annoyed at me for falling over, being too weak to carry the crap. We had set up our blanket and patiently waited for the fourth of July fireworks, and all he could do was seem annoyed at me, until I became entirely unresponsive. For the first time, I think he felt he had gone too far. The silence from there was deafening. I wished that I had gone with mom instead, but she insisted on having time with her friends, and I know I wouldn’t wanna ruin that for her. I figured I would just accept whatever it was that he threw at me, even if I ended up getting too tired to respond.

Then, the fireworks started. Their booms echoed out through the sky, their colors creating a beautiful cascading dance throughout the night. I held my breath at the sight. My father, for once, seemed happy, content even. It was a miracle to me that he was even capable of such emotions while around me. I did my best to pretend not to notice, focusing instead on the sky above us. As I did, I heard something from my father that surprised me. Not ridiculing, or educating, or just telling me every way I’ve done something wrong. No, it was a question.

“Who does the sky belong to, Christopher?” The question didn’t make much sense to me, so I remained quiet. Eventually, he continued. “Not the rich, not the privileged, not a single person. Everyone’s racing to try and own what could be the most ubiquitous thing this reality has to offer us. It’s silly, though. Because they already own a sky. The only one that matters.” He spoke softly and carefully, like each word was a piece of gospel. “Their own sky.” He whispers. Taking it all in, I didn’t even bother trying to understand. Hearing him talk so calmly was enough to make me happy. I nodded simply, before returning my focus to what was above us once again.

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He wasn’t a changed man after that. He still yelled, he still educated, he still did all the things that made me feel purely lesser than. But, sometimes, in those unexpected quiet moments, whether they were cooking on the grill late in the night, sitting on the couch reading our own separate books, or even just relaxing on the floor, I could see it. That smile, that sense of peace, and a part of me had thought that, if I had collected enough of those memories, of those moments, maybe he could be like that all the time. But that didn’t happen. Instead, he died. And my mom grew away from me. And I remained the same worthless self I had always been. And…one memory…kept tearing at the edges of my brain, whenever I was unlucky enough to be in pure silence, yet never let me just see it. Not till now.

“I need to tell you something.”

I recall the hospital room. The setting sun. The sense of dread at feeling like I was about to be lectured and running through whatever I had done in the last few minutes so I could understand just what I was in trouble for. Instead, though, I was met with a rather surprising change of pace. I felt a strong grip on my arm. Leaning forward, my pale, deathly looking father seemed intent on telling me something. Something more important than anything else. In response, I listened. Giving him all my attention, I watched as his face laxed before looking down at the bed.

“This world isn’t fair, Christopher.” He said. “It’s going to be out for you. People are going to kick you down when they see you so close to success and rub it in your face like it was your own fault. That’s the…kind of world this one is. I know that you aren’t strong.” The words weren’t cruel or mean this time. They sounded like understanding, of some kind. “You aren’t, but…when something is worth protecting…when something is on the line that really matters to you…you always get back up. You understand?” He whispered.

“I…understand…” I lied. I knew even then I was incapable of anything. Of protecting anyone. He could tell I was lying. He looked at me, dead straight in the eyes, and smiled.

“When you do, will you think of me, I wonder?”

My eyes raised. No, not in some memory. Those were all busy playing out right before me.

Something worth protecting. Did I have something like that?

“I promise.”

My eyes widened. That woman. No, how could that be? She’s just a stranger. Someone I don’t know beyond watching her fight some hell-spawn. Why should she matter to…me…oh…I know why. Once it becomes clear, I smile at my pathetic self. Because she was nice to me. That’s enough, isn’t it? For someone as lonely and worthless as me? A willingness to laugh is cut off by myself doing all I can to open my eyes.

I…this time, I will protect you.

I promise.