Lana

It's rare for me to put anything on this website that is not directly related to my comic books. I'm making an exception today.

I wrote this story in 2017 for an event my wife, Suzanne, was organizing called Arizona Writes. She gathered writers from around the valley and offered them a place in a small publication. We also did readings of our work at a public event hosted by The Trunk Space.

I stumbled upon a printout of this story last night as I was cleaning up my office. I thought I would share it it here.

Lana

By Mack Duncan

Gerald’s office was in its usual state of disarray. Volumes or research were scattered in piles that only he could decipher. He had the small luxury of occupying an office that was slightly larger than average, an accident of the university’s architecture and not in any way a mark of status. The extra square footage afforded him by the odd angle of his east wall was easily occupied by more clutter. Layers of dust covered the few framed photos, diplomas, and knick knacks that have lived there during his 14 year tenure. He rarely touched anything in there if it had no immediate impact on what he was working on. Even his calendar was frozen on a past date since he couldn’t be bothered to flip a page. All of his concentration was fixed on the electronic document staring back at him from the screen of his laptop.

“Dad.”

Gerald didn’t look up. He was trapped in a poorly constructed paragraph. Is the attribution of this citation accurate? I think so. I’m usually very thorough. Better double check. A mistake like that could ruin… 

“Dad!”

Lana hovered impatiently. She knew Gerald wasn’t really ignoring her. He just wanted her to think he couldn’t see her there. Leaning over the desk, her eyes seemed to peer just over the top of his computer. Unblinking, the green orbs locked onto Gerald with laser focus.

Frustrated, Gerald leaned back in his chair with his hands over his eyes.

“Frack!” he murmured.

 “You can say the word, Dad,” Lana scolded, “I’m not a baby.”

“I’m not going to swear in front of you.” Gerald still wouldn’t look directly at her. He picked up one of his books, thumbing through in search of whatever obscure note he had almost forgotten.

“Oh, so you do acknowledge me.” Lana returned to a prominent posture. Her demeanor shifted from impatient to confident. The conversation she wanted to have was going to happen, and it was going to happen today. 

Gerald sighed and put the book down. He looked up and allowed himself to see Lana. This was difficult. But it wasn’t a confrontation. His heart wasn’t beating with anxiety. What he felt was a sadness that burdens nostalgia. While reminded of moments of joy, he also carries a feeling of loss.

“Do I really look so much like her?” she asked.

“You look exactly like her,” he said, “You may have my arrogance; but the smile, the eyes, that’s all her.”

“When was the last time you talked to Mom?”

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to call her that!” He snapped. Lana was unphased by this.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because,” he said, “you were never a part of her life. She was never a mother to you.”

Lana moved about the cluttered room, “I think that’s my choice,” she said, “She’s ‘Mom’ to me, so I’ll call her…”

“Laura,” he said insistently, “Her name was Laura.”

Lana was fixated on one of the few dusty photos that Gerald had kept. In the photo was Gerald, 22 years old, with a young woman who was virtually identical to Lana. This was Laura.

“Do you think she’d be proud of me?” she asked.

“She’d make sure of it.” Gerald leaned back, now looking at that photo from across the room. His nostalgia was less painful now.

“I like to imagine what it would have been like to be raised by both of you,” she said, returning to an often neglected chair in front of the desk. “You would say, ‘yes’ to everything she’d say, ‘no’ to. She’d say, ‘no’ because she would know what it’s like to be me, and you would say, ‘yes’ because you couldn’t stand the feeling of disappointing me. Eventually you’d figure this out and ask, ‘what does your mother think?’ You’d hate all the boys that she liked and like all the ones that she didn’t… and most of the time you’d both be wrong until I found someone a little bit like you.”

Gerald rose from his chair and wandered to the old photo of him and Laura.

“She didn’t want to be a mother,” he said, “Not back then, anyway. She didn’t get along with her own mother. I guess that was enough at the time. She had me convinced I didn’t want to be a parent.”

“So it’s her fault?” Lana’s question cut into his heart like a rusty blade.

“No,” he said. “I just convinced myself of that. Being with her just made the choice convenient.”

Lana’s eyes began to burn into Gerald’s back. He could feel her gaze on him, and was again avoiding her. He knew what was coming next and he couldn’t stop it.

“You never wanted me.”

The words filled Gerald’s office like thick smoke. How do I respond to that? With the truth? Do I even know what the truth is? Gerald slowing turned to look at her. He know her expression. It was the face Laura would look at him with whenever he had said or done something particularly obtuse, profoundly wounding her emotionally. He hated that look. It made him feel like the kind of chauvinist neanderthal he tried to rise above. He would see that look when Laura would ask him questions he was not comfortable answering. Now, Lana wore that look and he knew she wouldn’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“I don’t know,” was all he could say.

“That’s not an answer,” she said, “You don’t except that from your students, so why should I settle for it now?”

“You’re right,” he sighed. Pushing aside a stack of undergrad papers from semesters ago, Gerald pulled a chair next to Lana. He sat. He wanted to take her hands into his, but he couldn’t.

“You’re here now,” he said.

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“That means something.” She said nothing. Just continued to look back at him with dissatisfaction. “It means that at some time, I absolutely must have wanted you in my life. As scared as I was, and as selfish as I’ve been…” for all his knowledge, Gerald couldn’t find the words to finish that thought.

Lana’s face still had Laura’s mask of pain, but it allowed for a glimmer of sympathy. 

“You know why I’m here,” she said softly. Her gaze moved to a stack of mail on Gerald’s desk. Atop a mountain of unopened envelopes sat a single opened, handwritten letter. Gerald’s eyes found the letter as well. He was paralyzed. Anxiety had found him at last. Lana looked back at him. No words needed to be spoken. She patiently waited for him to make the choice.

Gerald picked up the letter. He had read it several times already. Each time, he had gently folded it and returned it to its envelope, maintaining the original creases. Gerald held it tightly in his hands. He didn’t have to look at it again. He had it memorized. Reading it again would not reveal anything else to him. With Lana there, however, this small document carried so much more weight.

“Read it to me,” she said.

“Why?” he whispered. He knew why.

“Dad,” she said firmly but gently, “Read it to me.”

Gerald gently pulled the letter from the envelope. The paper unfurled gracefully as he had done this so many times before. As tears pooled into his eyes, he slowly read the letter to Lana:

“Dear Dr. Conrad, You don’t know me, but you knew my mother, Laura Ross. 

She remembered you fondly and spoke highly of you over the years. I honestly think she loved you more than she loved my father.

It breaks my heart to tell you that my mother has passed away. I know you haven’t seen or spoken with her in many years, but if she meant as much to you as you did to her, then you deserved to know.

Sincerely,

Alana Ross Wilcox”

They sat in still silence for several minutes.

The ringing of the phone made Gerald’s heart skip a beat. He sloppily wiped his face and he picked up the receiver.

“Gerald Conrad… Hi hun… No, I’m okay… just a little tired… I don’t know, a few more hours I think… Let’s say 8… Okay… Love you, too.”

Lana’s expression was now compassionate. Gerald looked up at her, almost surprised she was still there. “My fiance,” he explained.

“Think she’d like me?” she asked.

“She’d adore you,” he said, “And so would I.”  His tears began to roll down his face again.

“Dad,” she said softly, “You can’t spend your life asking, ‘What if?’”

“I know,” he said, “And I won’t.” He walked over to the dusty picture of him and Laura. Gently, he lifted it from the wall and walked it to his desk.  “I don’t have to ask ‘what if?’ anymore. I know. I know Laura and I would have had a wonderful daughter. I know I would do my best to make sure you were happy. And as much as I would have loved you, it’s okay that you never were. Because Laura did have a wonderful daughter. Just not with me.”

“Are you ready to let her go?” she asked, “Are you ready to let me go?”  

Gerald opened a drawer in his desk, set the photo inside, and closed it.

“It’s time,” he said.

“I love you, Dad.”

“Good-bye, Lana.”

And she never was.