Krista Puttler
All He Could See
Edwin walked down the paved path next to the river. He hadn’t bothered to remove his blue hardhat. He carried his lunch in the plastic bag that he had used for so long that the stamped-on ink had almost completely flaked off into tiny green bits at the bottom of his backpack.
When Edwin first started working at the shipyards, he did not know he should have disguised his bento box and collapsible chopsticks; he did not know he should have just packed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. On his first day, Roy, his shift supervisor, had asked Edwin if he wanted to eat lunch with him on the picnic table just off the pier.
“Oh man,” Roy had said covering his nose. A gust of wind had rushed off the river just as Edwin had unclasped the cover of his bento box. Shimmering pink fish flakes flew out of the box, across the table, and onto the ground. “What is that?”
“Bonito,” Edwin said, snapping his chopsticks. He cupped the top of the bento box with his free hand to prevent any more of the delicate fish strips escaping, then dipped the chopsticks into the box and pulled out two pieces. “Try some?”
“Nah, man,” Roy chewed mouthfuls of bologna sandwich. “I’m good.”
Thus, the plastic bag. Thus, the seven-minute walk, even though he only had a thirty-minute break, along the bike path that skirted the river.
Edwin walked past century-old homes, medical supply warehouses converted to microbreweries, and a marsh reclamation area. He walked across the pedestrian overpass for the automobile tunnel that went under the river. He walked past a recently installed public exercise area. The path then turned toward the river and headed up a hill. On the other side of the hill, Edwin walked over to a small peninsula lined with breakwater rocks. A lone elm tree stood at the end of the point. Edwin sat down on a wrought iron bench that faced the river. He took off his helmet and placed it on the bench next to him. He touched the back of his head where his hair stuck out.
*
“Let’s be presentable.” His mother combed her fingers through the back of his hair. She was wearing her good black heels; she had on panty hose. Edwin wanted to ask her again why she had to cover up her skin with something that was the same color as her skin, but he didn’t want to upset her more. She licked her fingers and smoothed the final section of hair that needed reminding to stay in place. “Your father is coming home now.”
*
Edwin raked his fingers through his hair.
On the other side of the river sat two vacant cruise ships, deep-cleaned and sanitized. Just downriver, a grey-hulled ship jutted out beyond the breakwater rocks, a white ninety-six just visible on the bow. Edwin’s job was to replace the nonskid on this ship’s main deck.
He pulled a linen bag out of the plastic one and tucked the plastic bag under his thigh. Edwin untied the linen bag. He took out the plastic-wrapped rice cake and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket to save for the walk back to the ship. Then he removed the bento box from the bag and put the bag inside his jacket pocket. He opened the bento box lid. Slabs of Spam glistened. The air was still, the river just a sheet of glass.
*
Edwin tapped on the glass, then paused, his ears burning for any echoing sound. He knew he wasn’t supposed to touch the box, especially not the glass part of the box, but he couldn’t stop himself. He tapped again. His ears buzzed with emptiness; there was no sound. He looked at his face in the glass. Everyone said his forehead looked like his father’s. Everyone said his eyes looked like his mother’s. Did his nose look like anyone’s?
Edwin took a step back.
Parts of his reflected face seemed replaced by the white stars that were behind the glass. Was it because the stars were surrounded by dark blue? Edwin leaned to the left. As the star appeared in his reflection, his left cheek disappeared. He moved back. His cheek reappeared and his nose disappeared. Where had those parts of his face gone?
Edwin stood on his toes and his mouth became a star mouth. He crouched down and his forehead, the part of his face like his dad’s face, became a white star.
The box his dad was in had been covered by these stars. The sailors had lifted the flag off the box, holding the corners tight and still. Then they turned the flag into a long, thin strip. Then they made a triangle out of the red and white striped part. Then they turned that triangle into this blue and white starred one. The final sailor hugged this triangle to his chest, marched over to his mother, saluted, then bent forward and placed it into her trembling hands.
Edwin stepped closer to the box. His mouth disappeared in the reflected white star. Another step, and his nose, too, was gone. Another step, and his forehead touched the glass. Edwin let out the breath he was holding and his whole face—the known and unknown parts together—disappeared.
*
“Hey, mister!”
Edwin blinked. A soccer ball rolled out from beneath the bench, between his legs, and across the asphalt path.
“Mister!”
Edwin looked behind him. A boy ran ahead of a young woman pushing a stroller, his blonde hair flying from his shoulders like the wings of a white bird.
“Mister!” The boy’s untied shoelaces slapped the pavement. “Don’t let it fall into the water!”
The ball rolled across the grassy point and headed for the breakwater rocks.
“Mister!” The boy’s white bird hair flapped its wings harder. “Please!”
Edwin jumped up. His bento box clattered to the ground; the plastic bag floated away. Edwin ran across the path, past the elm tree, and stopped the ball just at the edge of the rocks.
“Mister! Thank…”
“Kai!”
Edwin turned around. The stroller lay on its side in the grass, a wheel spinning. The woman’s sandals slapped up the cement path. The boy lay prone on the path, his hair a mess of blonde around his motionless head.
“Oh my God!”
*
Edwin heard the slapping of his mom’s slippers on the cement as she ran past the seesaw, past the merry-go-round. The cement smelled like the shoulders of his father’s uniform, musty and metallic. Edwin did not want to move; he missed that smell. But once his mom came over to him, he would let her help him get up.
*
Edwin dropped the ball at the base of the elm tree and ran over to the path.
The woman crouched next to the boy’s head, “Can you move?” The woman brushed the hair from the boy’s shoulders.
The boy shook off her hand. He pushed his torso up from the ground. “Did you save the ball?” A large scrape on his forehead bloomed with dots of blood.
“Oh, Kai. Let me help you.” The lady bent down and reached for his face.
“I can do it myself.”
“Kai, just let me…”
The boy pushed her hands away.
“Kai.”
“No.” He got up on his hands and knees. “Thank you.” He shoved the woman’s chest with his shoulder and stood up.
“Hey!” Edwin rushed across the grass, arms out like a goalie reaching for a soccer ball, and caught the woman under her arms. “That is no way to treat your mom, little man.”
Kai’s fists clenched. Blood dripped down the sides of his nose. “She’s not my mom.” Then he stomped across the grass and over to the soccer ball.
Edwin blinked. “I’m sorry.”
The woman patted Edwin’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she said.
Edwin released his grip, and the woman stood up.
Kai touched one foot to the soccer ball, and then the other.
*
Toe touches, his mom had called them. Edwin touched the ball with his right foot, then switched and touched the ball with his left. Hopping and switching, every day after school, all afternoon, all evening, the rhythmic tap of his shoe against the ball the only reliable sound that told Edwin soon his mom would turn on the front porch light, that soon it would be time to go inside. That soon another day without his dad would be done. And that soon it would be another day closer to when his dad would return from deployment.
*
“His mom is deployed.”
Edwin blinked. “And his dad?”
The woman shook her head, then walked back to the stroller.
“So, what happens if his mom…?”
The woman paused, then exhaled. “I don’t know.” She reached for the fallen stroller.
*
“Why do you have to go again?”
Edwin’s dad put a hand on his shoulder. “Because the Navy needs a helicopter pilot, and I told them I would go.”
“But you just got back!”
The familiar metallic smell filled the space between them. Edwin rushed to his dad’s chest, inhaling as much air as he could, never wanting to let go.
*
The woman pushed the stroller down the path to Edwin. “I don’t think I have anything with me to clean up his face.”
Kai stood next to the tree, the soccer ball immobile at his feet, licking the blood that had dripped down to his upper lip.
“Here.” Edwin reached into his jacket pocket, paused at the rice cake, then pulled out the linen bag. “You can use this.”
“Are you sure?”
Edwin nodded.
“Thank you.” She took the bag. “I’m sorry we ruined your lunch.”
Edwin shrugged and walked over to the bench. “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.” He crouched down and picked up the bento box. There was a large diagonal crack in the bottom. Edwin reached under the bench and tossed clumps of rice and a piece of Spam into the box.
“Kai, come here please.” The woman held out the bag.
“Mister,” Kai walked over to Edwin, “You don’t like Spam musubi?”
Edwin looked at his dirt-coated lunch, shook his head, then tossed it into the trash can. “I like hot dog musubi better.”
“Me, too!” Kai touched his chest, smiled, then looked up at the woman.
She shook her head. “I know, Kai. I just don’t know how to make it like your mom does.” The lady spit on the cloth bag. “Now let me just clean you up a bit.”
The woman rubbed the cloth along the side of his nose.
Kai’s lower lip trembled.
“Does it hurt?”
Kai shook his head.
Edwin reached into his jacket pocket. “Do you like rice cakes?”
Tears ran down Kai’s cheeks. He sniffed.
The lady stopped wiping, crouched down, and held her arms out. Kai grabbed around her waist and buried his face in her shoulder.
Edwin exhaled, let go of the rice cake in his pocket, then walked over to the soccer ball.
*
Before the time of the box, before his father had left for the last time, Edwin would wait by the front door, his face reflected in the front window. He would rock from toe to heel, squinting across the front lawn and down the road. Any minute now, Edwin knew, his dad’s Jeep would drive down the road and stop at the curb by the front lawn. Any minute now, his dad would hop out of the Jeep, and jog down the front path. Any minute now he would walk through the front door. He would grab Edwin into a bear hug, then toss him onto his flight suit-clad shoulders, his collar smelling of JP5 fuel, his hair ruffled in the back and dented from his helmet and the downwash of helicopter blades. Any minute now, his dad would grasp Edwin’s legs close to his chest and remind him to duck his head as he walked into the kitchen. And soon, his dad would ask his mom if they had time to play one last game of soccer before dinner.
*
Edwin dribbled the ball back over to the stroller, then picked it up.
The lady whispered something in Kai’s ear, then released him.
Kai turned to Edwin, his arms out. “Thank you for getting my ball.”
“I’m sorry I made you feel bad.”
“I’m okay.” Kai held the ball tight to his chest. “My mom made rice cakes for me right before she left on the ship. It’s what I miss most.” Kai climbed into the stroller.
Edwin exhaled, then looked over at the lady.
“Jenny.” The lady held out her hand.
“Edwin.”
“Well, Edwin…”
“I’m really sorry.”
“We’re okay. Right, Kai?”
Kai nodded.
“But we probably should get home to our lunch.”
“Yes!” Kai nodded again.
Jenny released the brake on the stroller.
“Oh, wait a minute!” Edwin bent down in front of the stroller. “May I?” Edwin pointed to Kai’s untied shoelaces.
Kai nodded.
“My dad was on an aircraft carrier.”
Kai opened his eyes wide.
“After school, every day that he was gone, I practiced my soccer drills until it was so dark I couldn’t see the ball anymore.” Edwin finished one shoe and reached for the other. “Then my mom would turn on the porch light…”
“So you could keep playing?”
“No, Kai.” Edwin finished the second shoe and stood up. “So I knew I had to go into the house for dinner.”
“Were you sad because you had to stop playing?”
“No.” The face that stared back at Edwin did not look anything like Edwin when he was little. But Edwin could still see himself in Kai. “I knew that the porch light going on meant that the day was almost over and that it would be one day closer to seeing my dad again.”
The scrape must have hurt. It had stopped bleeding. And once it healed, the skin would be forever different than what it had looked like every day of his life before this one. When his mom returned, would she recognize his face? Would Kai recognize hers?
Edwin did not know who Kai’s eyes looked like. Or his forehead. Or his nose. All Edwin saw was a young boy who was trying so hard not to be afraid, who might be trying so hard not to hope for a wish to come true. Edwin had hoped for his dad to come home sooner than he was supposed to. And he did. And Edwin’s life was forever different than it was before his dad came home that last time. Was Kai wishing for his mom to come home earlier? Did Kai know that sometimes he should not wish for those wishes to come true?
“Look after Miss Jenny for me, won’t you?”
Kai looked up and Jenny shrugged. He looked back down. “Why?”
“Because the ones who stay behind have the hardest job.”
Edwin walked back to the bench and looked down. Ants circled a forgotten clump of rice. Edwin looked back. He could just see the boy’s blonde head bobbing in sync with the movement of the stroller, the soccer ball clutched tightly to his chest.
Edwin sat down and faced the river. He pulled the rice cake out of his jacket pocket and unwrapped it.
A lone tugboat moved upriver. Its wake, the shape of a narrow triangle, followed.
*
Edwin sat on the bench by the front door. He looked out the front window.
Edwin knew that sometime soon he would forget what his father’s flight suit-clad shoulders smelled like. He knew that soon he would forget the feeling of his mother’s hand grasped in his, then the feeling of its sudden absence as she accepted the folded blue and white flag with both hands. And perhaps, one day, Edwin would forget why it was so important to put his soccer ball on top of that other box as they lowered it into the ground.
But he would not forget those things today.
He stood up. He turned away from the window. He nodded to the triangle box on the wall, its glass as smooth as a river on a calm spring day. Then he walked down the hallway, and into the kitchen, and asked his mom if he could help her make dinner.
“The Elizabeth River Trail became my refuge during the pandemic. During that time, I had never felt so alone, but I could still take a walk along the river to see the osprey, blue herons, shipyard workers, mothers and children, neighbors and friends. And during those moments on the trail I felt close to people again. One morning as I sat on a bench on the end of a small peninsula, I saw two empty cruise ships and a Navy ship in dry dock. As I turned to point out the cruise ships to my daughters who were playing at the playground behind me, an MH-60 helicopter flew overhead. What did the lone person sitting in the back, doors open, feet dangling over the edge, see from up there? Did he see us as ants or people? Or were we just passing reflections off the river’s surface?” —Krista Puttler
Krista Puttler has called many places home, including Italy, the Philippines, Guam, Hawaii, Japan, and a stateroom on an aircraft carrier. Her writing has appeared in Still Point, Wordpeace, Cleaver Magazine, Collateral, and Under the Gum Tree, among others. She lives and writes in Norfolk, Virginia. Most mornings she is chasing after one of her dogs as they try, once again, to catch the elusive rabbit. To read more please visit kristaputtler.com.
