"No Father, Daughter Dance" CC Chisolm

The feeling of thunderous pain struck my chest, causing my throat to close and ache. My eyes desperately tried to hold back the tears that threatened to burst onto my cheeks at any moment, creating a catastrophe of emotions. My bed seemed to sink around me, suffocating any words I wanted to say in that conversation.

What was the conversation? I couldn’t tell you the details—my mind drowned out most of the memories. But the ache it left behind remains vivid.

I do remember those long hours of the school day, as my third-grade self dreamed of the elegant ball I would attend. Pink and purple posters hung on the walls announcing, “FATHER-DAUGHTER DANCE: 7 PM IN THE HIGH SCHOOL GYM.” Normally, I would sigh and roll my eyes at the posters due to a key component; a father. Every year I envied the girls who gossiped about their dresses and the treats from the dance.

But I knew that envy would dissolve with Randy. He was well-known around the small town of Oskaloosa—not only because he was a tall Black man in a predominantly white area, but also because of his extraordinary musical talent. I was known for my love of music too; that’s why we grew closer. One of my first solo performances was with Randy at the Wood Iron Grill. I was especially attached because when I was around him, I felt like every little girl in my school.

So, when I asked him to the father-daughter dance, my desires blinded me from seeing the hesitation behind his halfhearted, “maybe.”

Looking back, perhaps I’m being too harsh on my younger self. Randy was the only male figure I had in my life and he truly cared about me like his own family. Yet, I think his own family had instilled a certain trauma that made him skitter from any form of love. He didn’t want to corrupt me or betray that unspoken trust—but still, I can’t help but feel a sense of neglect while looking back on our interactions.

That sense of neglect became reality when I called him that night in my room. Randy was no stranger to canceling plans and creating over-exagerrated explanations to protect his image. I don't know why he did this– maybe to hide his guilt of letting me down. Or simply, he took advantage of my naive trust in him.

 All I knew was once that familiar rambling of excuses came through the phone, I knew the answer to my question from the days prior. Betrayal and disappointment engulfed my whole body, leaving me with an aching sense of isolation.

The phone echoed a beep as silence rang in my room. Thoughts spiraled through my mind in a tornado that lingered for hours, creating nightmares of tomorrow—when the girls would gush about how great the music selection was. I was Icarus and Randy was my wings. I flew too high in the sun of fatherly “love,” only for his apathy-wax to melt and inevitably send me falling into the ocean of loneliness.

I want to say that he apologized. I want to say he took me to the next dance. I want to say I got over the hurt. But he didn’t apologize and he didn’t ask me to another dance. And I never got over the hurt.

In fact, our relationship strained more each year like air slowly leaking from a tire. I suspect that Randy knew he had hurt me that night and hung his head low, trudging his walk of shame as I picked up my shattered pieces.

Now, when the occasion arises and I run into him during an event, I can’t help but feel a numbness toward the once warm, energetic love I had for him. I may never know what went inside that man’s head during our times together but during these years of understanding, I learned to dance with no father, just a daughter.