The Meeting

The meeting

The wind blows its cold breath over my face, blowing my hair over my eyes, obscuring my vision.

I stand here on the corner, opposite the steps leading up into the train station.

It's funny how they have steps leading you up, only to have more steps leading you back down, then further down to the platforms. You have to wonder where the logic is in that.

Where is the logic in so many things though? Where is the logic in nature throwing us a freezing day like today, in the middle of summer. Where is the logic in keeping me from the truth about my parents.

That is why I am here today, right now. I am going to meet my real father for the first time, ever. My eyes dart frantically from over the faces of the people walking down the steps, then back to the creased photo in my hand sent to me by my father. His grey beard covers his smile, his receding hair line reminds me of a university professor, or perhaps it is the beard. I glance back up at the commuters rushing down the steps onto the busy streets, scurrying about their busy lives. I wonder what they might be thinking. I wonder if today is to be as meaningful to them as it is to me.

With every minute that passes my stomach tightens more and more. I glance at every face exiting the station, hoping to find some resemblance to my only picture of my father.

He looks a lot different without the beard, but I recognize him straight away, there is no mistaking your own father.

I stand there on the corner, unable to move. Tears roll down my cheeks as he glides down the steps and crosses the road toward me.

He stops right in front of me,

"How did u recognize me in all these people?" I ask.

I stare into his warm eyes, while mine rain tears over my cheeks.

In his deep calming voice he replies,

"There is no mistaking my own daughter."

...