Three Layers of Missing

Sun, 21 Jun 2026 08:48:31 -0500
Father’s Day Weekend
gave me Ava under stage lights,
carrying Newsies with a Spotlight cast
in the kind of show
where the kid you know
walks out
and becomes the person the room has to notice.
She was amazing.
That’s the whole review.
Amazing.
And I got to sit there
doing the dad thing,
which is mostly
trying to keep the chest
from saying too much out loud.
Afterward,
Orca and I,
Oscar’s patio,
where her stardom
continues its quiet,
hostile takeover of Fort Worth.
The little couch
is not really
a little couch anymore.
It’s a throne.
She knows it.
The patio crowd knows it.
I’m just the staff
assigned
to leash logistics
and water service.
Around nine,
Ava finished
the after-party portion
of being celebrated
and wanted _real food_.
Reasonable.
So we went to Riscky’s BBQ,
patio-bound
with Orca,
hunting the kind of meat fix
Fort Worth is legally obligated to provide.
And oh, it provided.
The kind of plate
that makes conversation slow down…
for safety.
The kind of meal
that does not end,
exactly,
so much as become a medical condition.
Home after that.
Meat coma.
Well-earned sleep
waiting in the doorway
like it had called ahead.
The whole day
had the shape of full:
stage full,
patio full,
plate full,
dad-heart full,
though I’ll deny the phrasing
if questioned under oath.
And still,
our thread
was mostly bare.
Not dead.
Not gone.
Just thin.
Which made sense.
You were where
grief had called you,
and some days don't have
much extra room for words.
So I sent
the running novel
from my side,
as one does
when silence needs company
but not pressure.
Little proof
that the day kept moving over here
through Orca’s couch-throne,
Ava’s after-show glow,
and enough BBQ
to make sleep feel inevitable…
while yours carried weight
I wouldn’t ask to inspect.
Then,
near the end,
the few messages came.
Few,
but not small.
The thread had been bare,
but suddenly
it was heavy enough
to change the whole room.
You missed me.
Then you missed me
in a way
I did not know.
Then you missed me
in a way
even you
could not quite believe.
Three layers
of missing.
One on top
of the next,
each one a little closer
to the part of me
that starts looking for airports
without permission.
Enough—
to make me wanna
jump on a plane.
Immediately, ridiculously.
But I can’t.
Nero’s here.
Orca’s here.
Atlanta ain’t where you are,
not yet.
And even when the map
starts pretending there must be
some secret shortcut,
the calendar keeps standing there
with its stupid clipboard.
Tuesday night,
you have coworkers
in town for dinner.
So, Tuesday I drive.
Which means
the earliest version
of us with arms around it
is Wednesday.
At _least_ Wednesday.
Brutal.
But fine.
Because Saturday gave me plenty:
Ava shining,
Orca ruling,
friends and BBQ,
the good tired of a day
that didn’t waste itself.
But then your missing
arrived in threes,
and suddenly all that fullness
had one empty chair it couldn’t explain away.
So I’ll take what the day gave.
And I’m counting
toward Wednesday
with three layers of missing
tucked under every number.
Fathers Day on Bougyman's Ramblings

Three Layers of Missing
