Dad End

A true story

This is the harrowing tale of how I became a Dad. While driving through Cumberland, Becca and I spotted an aged Dead End sign fixed to an old telephone pole. The elements had weathered away the first ‘E’, transforming the sign into a ‘Dad End’ sign. This became a hilarious inside joke. Where do Dads go? The Dad End. I pictured them marching like ants to this singular location. Every time we passed the sign we would point it out again and the joke was like new.

I once again find myself face to face with the sign. This time I am alone. This time I am unable to draw from that dependable well of humor. In this fading light the sign looks even more worn. Corrosion has begun at the edges. The vibrant yellow is now dull and sun-bleached. The faint “E” has been erased completely. It might just be me, but the letters seems to have shifted their kerning to correct the erasure. The sign says Dad End, as if it always meant to. Impossible. Why am I seeing this?

My immediate surrounding become clearer. I am inside the back of an old taxi I think. Do they still have taxis these days? How did I get here?

“Where am I,” I asked the driver.

The driver does not speak. He smoothly gestures with his head towards the sign outside.

“Why did you bring me here?” I ask, fingers grasping the back of his headrest.

I can’t make out his face in the gloom, but I can see the rim of overhead street-light marking the curve of a smile. I start to panic.

“I’m not ready,” I say.

He starts chuckling. The chuckling breaks into a fit of coughing. He wipes away the moisture from his eyes with his pinky finger.

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” he says. His voice is soft but seems to come from every corner of the taxi.

Without warning, the door on my side opens. I find myself stepping outside. The taxi honks its horn and drives off down the road. Its headlights disappear from sight. I pat my jeans pockets. Both are empty.

It’s getting darker outside. Unsure of where to go, I walk down the seemingly residential street. Maybe there’s a house somewhere down there where I can borrow a phone. I walk for what feels like hours. The paved road degrades into a narrow dirt road. The dirt road becomes a treacherous uphill forest trail. I am surrounded by a thick trees. I can barely see in this choking darkness.

I am drawn by the faint fragrance of a campfire. As I get closer, I heard a deep sound. A chorus of voices chant some unintelligible phrase. Is it a warning? No, it’s a welcoming.

Gathered in the clearing, I finally see them. Nine dark figures encircling a roaring fire. I stager my way towards the fire. By this point sweat is pours down my forehead. My shirt has been ripped by branches and brambles. The figures don’t turn to face me. They are motionless. Only the flickering light of the fire gives them the illusion of motion.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“This is a gathering of Dads,” says one of them.

My eyes dart between the figures, but I can’t find the source.

“Why have you gathered here?” I ask.

“To incorporate a new member,” says another.

“Who?”

“Look for yourself.”

The nine men lift their hands and point to the fire. I look into the flame. I see my own face staring back at me. It’s definitely my face, but it’s somehow older. The lines on my face are more prominent. There are other hideous transformations.

“When did I get a fannypack?”

“You always had one Dan.”

I clutch my stomach. I feel a fannypack hugging my hips. It’s strapped on so tightly, it feels like a part of me.

“But I’m not ready to be a Dad.”

“Is that so? Have you painstakingly named all your computers and phones after famous sci-fi spaceships?”

“I mean, just Serenity. And Nostromo. And Tantive. Okay, yes.”

“Have you started collecting yard sale Legos to hand down to your child.”

“I mean, sure. They were free. Sure, I’ve got to go through and separate the Legos from the Megablocks. Whatever, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Do you have a sweater vest?”

“Of course I do, the sweater vest offers maximum torso temperature retention without compromising on arm mobility. Shit, that can’t be me.”

“You are on the path Dan.”  “What path? Where am I going?”

The figures once again pointed at the fire.

I understand.

I unstrap my fannypack and lay it on the forest floor. I turn around and face the flames. I walk forward into the fire. The flames dance around me, but I am not burned.