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What Happens If

Thomas Elson

    She heard her father’s voice for the last time inside a grove of trees a few moments before she was unaware of the rustle of leaves as her head brushed them or the snap of the twigs when she fell.
    Dance for me, darlin, her young father had said as he lifted her onto the table – his eyes lingering. And the obedient little girl complied. Go ahead and twirl, he said as his hands buttoned her dress when she was older and taller.
    Over the years, she heard each request in her father’s voice, Dance for me, darlin. She twirled and continued to hear his voice spoken by hopeful young boys echoed from dining rooms, then to other rooms, where grasping older men, who, like her father, displayed their gratitude. From boy to man, from husband to husband she received roses with petals long dead, and chocolates their freshness dates long past. From toys to clothes, bicycles to cars, precious stones to anything she wanted. Where, in her mind, food and love flowed when she was compliant. Each man more generous than before. Fragile hearts roused and unformed passions excited by a mere crossed leg, modest smile. Even a slight touch begat more offerings.
    Experience brought skills of steady eye contact, whispery breaths, leaning forward with strategic exposure, which, she learned, was easier than laughing at jokes weakened by repetition or long evenings followed by forced morning smiles, but raised hope just as much. And she continued to hear her father’s voice, Dance for me, darlin.
    Over time, however, when tired or embarrassed, something vague festered. What happens if...? With mounting reluctance, she continued to dance and twirl, and believe the choice was hers; but, even as her questions arose, she obeyed her father’s voice - alternating between obedience and compliance, anger and shame, with a brief question. What happens if...?
    Then, at a weakened moment, a request for yet another out-of-town dinner. Her hesitation. His persistence. Her refusal. Their argument. The altercation. She rebelled, and, in that briefest of moments, learned the choice was no longer hers.
    What happens if...? Her question never completed - but answered the night she no longer heard the leaves rustle or the twigs snap. There was no longer her father’s voice but hands - brandished, which, after she fell, covered her with leaves and abandoned her inside a grove of trees.

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