"Our Last Encounter" by Nevyn Harvey (Waldo County Winner)
He was late. Again.
His large boots shook the cafe as he came in. I watched him scan the place until his eyes landed on me by the windows. He lifted his hand to wave, then changed his mind. A half smile reached his lips.
“Hey buddy, sorry I’m late. The roads are just awful this time of year,” he said. He removed his hat and gloves and set them in the booth beside him.
“You coming right out of work?” I asked, grimacing at the smell of him.
“We’re trying to catch as many fish as possible before it gets too cold. The longer we stay out now, the less time we need to spend in the dead of winter.”
“In other words, your crew hasn’t had much success this year.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that…” he trailed off.
A waitress approached us. “Can I start either of you off with something to drink?” “Black coffee,” he said.
“Me too,” I said.
“Since when do you drink black coffee?” he asked.
“Within the last year.”
The waitress walked away. “So, how have you been?”
“Fine,” I said.
He took a deep breath. “And your mother? How is she?”
“Fine. Like always.”
“And school? Are you applying to colleges?”
“Yup.”
“Elizabeth, this breakfast was your idea. The least you can do is meet me halfway in the conversation.”
“Meet you halfway?” I scoffed. “You’re lucky that I even know who you are.” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. The woeful look that crossed his gray eyes almost made me feel bad. Almost.
The waitress came back around and served us our coffees. We ordered breakfast. “Maybe someday I could take you out on the boat, like when you were little. Your mom used to love to do that,” he said. His swollen eyes brightened when I managed to smile. It only lasted for a moment.
“Are you still living in the apartment downtown?” I asked, trying to make conversation.
“No, I had to give that place up. I’ve been staying at Marty’s for a while. You remember Martin, don’t ya?”
I nodded. Martin used to come over to the house all the time when I was little. They might as well have been brothers.
“It’s nice, but I don’t think Marty’s wife thinks so,” he chuckled.
As we ate in silence, I watched every subtle movement he made. His cheeks were much puffier since the last time I had seen him. He was almost unrecognizable from the man Mother kept pictures of in her secret box. He couldn’t hold eye contact for more than a few seconds, patches of his hair seemed missing as if they’d been pulled out, and he constantly fidgeted. I wondered how many beers he had before entering the cafe.
I took the last bite of food when he called for the check. I walked with him outside, met by the burning cold of wind and snow. He put his hand out for me to shake it. I reluctantly accepted. My nose stung at the mixed smell of beer and fish.
“Do you want to have lunch next Friday?” he asked, stepping away.
“Ok,” I said. He patted my shoulder and we went our separate ways.
***
The following Wednesday I had the first day off for Thanksgiving break. It had already begun to snow, but it was nothing out of the ordinary in Maine. I went on a walk with my mother downtown and sat on a bench overlooking the ocean. Despite the cold, it was one of our traditions to go down to the water and watch the tree get set up for the holidays. This year it was a ginormous evergreen that topped everyone in height. It took a truck and about a group of ten people to make sure it was set up right.
“Do you want to go to lunch with us on Friday?” I asked Mother. “I’m sure he would be happy to see you.”
Mother chuckled. “I doubt it. It’s been so long since I last talked to your father… I’m surprised that you were able to reach out to him.”
“Me too. I think you should come, but if you really don’t…”
“No, no, I think it would be good for me,” she said. Her face darkened. I opened my mouth to say something but held my tongue. I knew better than to pry.
The two of us walked in comfortable silence on our way back home. I had both of my hands tucked into the pockets of my jacket and mouth covered by a scarf. We were just about to enter the driveway when my phone rang. It was an unknown number.
“Who is this?” I asked after answering the phone. Mother looked at me.
The line was silent until, “Is this Elizabeth Moore?” It was a man’s voice, and a familiar one. “Yes,” I said.
“Lizzie, this is Martin Sawyer. Do you remember me?”
“Of course, I remember you. My fath–” I cleared my throat. “Oscar was just talking about you.”
“Lizzie, is your mother there? Can you put me on speakerphone?”
I looked at Mother.
“Yes, I can,” I said. Her brows furrowed.
“I hate that I have to be the one to tell you two…”
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. I turned my head away before he could utter another word, knowing what was going to be said. I didn’t know this man, the man people referred to as “Lizzie’s father.” Yet I felt pain stabbing like knives throughout my body. “Lizzie,” Mother said. She put her arm around me.
Martin cleared his throat. He sniffled. “I’m afraid to say that Lizzie’s father, Oscar, passed away last night. It happened on Route 6. A car was parked on the side of the road, so he pulled over to see if he could help. Probably had a couple of beers in the passenger seat, you know how he was. The people in the parked car needed a spare tire or something. When Oscar was getting back into his truck, another car collided with him because of some black ice.”
The line went quiet again. I imagined Martin on the other end, trying to hold back sobs. Mother wiped her eyes and hugged me tightly. For a moment I couldn’t feel anything. I was motionless as I imagined our last encounter.
Dad.
Nevyn Harvey is a senior at Belfast Area High School. She wrote “Our Last Encounter” as a way of embracing her coastal hometown and the importance of relationships. Ever since she can remember, Nevyn has loved to write and hopes to be an English teacher one day.