Short Story 2 : Forsaken

Forsaken

A 67 years old widower-retired old man lived his old life in a village; not an isolated one but it was quiet enough to settle in for an old age. The old man who lived in a village was not poor; he just wanted to enjoy a peaceful life, away from the chaos and the pollution in the city. He owned a small beautiful house. He is usually called by Mr. Vichea. Everyone in the village loved and respected him so much; even his son also cared about him. He visited his father once a fortnight. His son was his only heir to inherit his billion-dollar company. A few years had passed, the son was getting married. After his marriage, the father rarely saw his son’s face. The son kept saying that he was so busy at the company. The father did not complain about the absence of his son. It went on and on for almost 2 years that these two─ the father and the son─ were not in touch at all.

On January, the first day of the New Year, the father decided to text his son a message. “Son, could you and your wife come and visit me today? It is New Year Day, isn’t it?” he texted. Two minutes later, his phone beeped. He slid his phone unlocked and read the message. “Dad, I am so sorry. We are at Australia now.” The father slipped the phone back into his pocket and went to the backyard garden.

Khmer New Year has come in the blink of an eye. He woke up to the sound of children running and squealing, the men talking and the women cooking. He got up and took a bath. He dressed up properly and went outside to see almost every house around him surrounded by new and young faces. Only then did he realize that each family was having a family gathering of its own; every family except his. He took out his phone and texted to his son. “Son, Khmer New Year is today. Everyone is having a family entertainment. Do you feel to celebrate with me?” After the words were typed, he pressed send. He gave a sigh before walking back into his house. When he reached the threshold, he took the phone is his palm and lighted up the screen. His son replied “Dad, I am so sorry. My wife is pregnant. The doctor said the baby is due next week. I can’t take her out of town.”  With another sigh, the old man walked back into his bedroom.

Finally, Christmas is coming. Even though most of our citizens are Buddist, some of us still celebrate it anyway. We Cambodian do not discriminate any religion; we always appreciate them. Once again, every family was crowded with their own kin. Everyone was staying over to celebrate Christmas as well as the upcoming New Year. Every house is filled with colorful neon lights and glittering objects hanging on the wall as a decoration. However, our old man’s house is the quietest of all. Our old man stared down at his phone for almost an hour before he decided to text to his son again. He asked his son to come over. He told his son that he had something important to tell him. Unsurprisingly, his son still refused to come. “We still have much time, dad.” said his son. Poor man, he stayed all alone in the dark house.

Time really does fly. It was the end of December already. Back in the city, every high class and middle class people was celebrating a countdown at luxurious restaurants. If we look closely amongst the crowded people, we can see a familiar face. A face that resembled someone we know. It is true. He was no one else, but Mr. Vichea’s son─ Mr. Vichet. He was celebrating with his wife and an 8 months old son. It was now five minutes to midnight. The firework was about to begin. He was helping the baby to sit on his shoulder as a leverage to help the young boy seeing the firework. The dark sky suddenly was lightened up by many sparkling fire, and the silent night was overcome by the crowded noise. He was laughing with his baby son. He looked at his son’s face full of affection. He felt like he was the happiest man in the world. Unexpectedly, as soon as he glanced back to the sky, he was lost in a flashback. A memory of his own childhood; the memory of him sitting on his father shoulder and watching the firework. He was dragged out of this memory by a loud bang of a big firework. Now, he understood the meaning of the parental love. He started to think of his father. Back to his day, maybe his father loved him more than this. He glanced around him. His wife’s mouth came down to his ear and asked “What is wrong, sweetheart? You look awful. Aren’t you feeling well or something?” He stared back into his wife with vacant expression. He muttered “my dad, my dad…” His wife frowned. She was confused.

“Your dad? What’s with your dad?” asked his wife.

“It is New Year.” Replied Mr. Vichet.

“Yes, darling. It is New Year. What does it have to do with your dad?” asked his wife.

“He is left all alone. We are all here. He was there all alone.” Mr. Johnson replied miserably.

“Then, what are you waiting for? Let’s go” said his wife.

“Go? Go where?” asked her husband.

“To your father, of course. You said he is all alone. Well, let’s not keep him waiting” smiled his wife.

Mr.Vichet seemed to come back to his sense. He and his family got into the car and drove to the village in the middle of the night to visit his own father. While driving, he was thinking a lot. He was thinking of his father’s messages, his refusal messages and his neglect of his own father over the past years. His first intention was to kneel down in front of his father and asked for forgiveness. Without noticing, his father’s house roof emerged from the dark. He drew up to the front porch and killed the headlight. When he got out of the car, he sensed something wrong. No sight of any movement was in the house. He assured himself that his father probably asleep. He was about to ring the bell when he realized the door was left ajar. Something was really wrong, he thought. He pushed the door and crept inside silently. The house was dark, except for the tiny lamplight from the upstairs bedroom. The bedroom, too, was left open. He smiled. His father was not asleep. He probably was deep into reading that he did not hear the sound from downstairs. Mr. Vichet took the stairs three at the time, running upstairs. He stopped dead at the door when his wife, following behind him, gasped. Mr. Vichea lay motionless on his bed. His face was so solemn. He did not turn around even when Mr. Vichet moved toward him. His body was as perfect as usual, except he was not breathing. Mr. Vichet fell down on his knee besides his father’s bed. Tears were trickling down his cheek without him knowing it. He was dumbstruck. He could not make a sound. He could not even call his father’s name to tell him that he had finally arrived. Then, he spotted a piece of white paper next to the small dresser near the bed. He picked up the paper and instantly recognized the hand-writing. It was his father’s. He swallowed hard and read:

“Son, heaven is just as busy as you. I cannot halt its waiting for me.”

Actually, Mr Jonhson had a clairvoyant. He could see his own death from the beginning of the year. It was why he kept telling his son to come and see him. He wanted to tell his son in person. It is too bad that his son throws away the opportunity by his own two hands.  

                       

“Life is too short to wait”

“Money can’t buy you a time machine. You better start doing the things you have to do before it is too late”

“Everything does not lie under money power”