Utopia

It’s been three years since my dad passed away. Time should lessen the pain right? The grief should not be so raw that it makes your heart feel like it going to snap in two. The tears should not come so quickly, flowing like a river from your eyes, unbidden. And for the most part it doesn’t. My dad will always be with me, never distant. Memories play in my head like reels from movies, happy and sad. In truth, I try to block out the sad. He was one of my best friends, as my mom is still. I was lucky.

Yesterday, we were attempting to plug a hole in a sinking ship. We moved to that house in 1990, an escape from a neighborhood that was filled with unique characters, but that was becoming more violent and much less entertaining. Their house was built a decade after mine, but was owned by someone older and sold to two people who were older and maybe didn’t get the tlc it needed. It definitely fell into disrepair as my dad grew sick, the cancer we did not know existed overtaking his memory and cognizant thoughts, and his ability to do what he had always done, take care of all of us and everything. The house is proverbially sinking, or maybe literally as it seems to collect water. My dad would make that joke all the time.

The excessive storms we have had angrily lash at the back of the house, flooding the garage which sends water gushing through the basement. My mom valiantly tries to clean it up herself, but she is older now and her body betrays her. We help as we always do – family just does for family. We are doing everything we can to try and keep the water out – thus far it’s like trying to plug holes on the ship with fingers and we are running out of fingers. To add to it, her toilet overflowed and that also leaks into the garage – so water coming down from the ceiling and up from the floor. The problem with all of this is that in her garage is an absolute treasure – my dad’s utopia.

His utopia – a u-shaped world covered in fake green grass. Smoke and flames pour from a building while firefighters valiantly try to extinguish the flames, which is a good thing as it sits right next to a gas station. Tiny houses and stores sit in neat little rows, patrolled by policeman in red and white or blue and white cars. A basketball game is going on in the enclosed rooftop of a school. Girls in poodle skirts play hopscotch, jump rope, or hula hoop. Guys in leather jackets, lean against classic Chevys and Fords. Dogs wander the streets and pee on fire hydrants, if you look closely enough. Cats chase invisible mice. Stores stand paying homage to the five most important people in his life, his grandchildren. Mushroom trucks transport all the goods. A sandlot in the back hosts a baseball game, two teams in a friendly rivalry that has been going on as long as I remember, a farm team for the Phillies no doubt. An abandoned warehouse hosts a wedding, dancers swirling around to unheard music. On the other side of town, the houses are larger, each one has an intricate scene. In one, my favorite, Santa stuffs stockings next to a tree, It’s always Christmas there – snow dots the streets; presents await eager children; lights decorate the windows; kids build snowmen and throw caution to the wind as they fly down hills on sleds; couples fall in love skating on a mirrored pond. A Christmas tree farm lets the local residents browse its lot and visit with the small petting zoo, A ski resort at the end provides a vacation spot, deer milling about the forest. Skiers race each other after getting off their lifts. And through it all trains follow their tracks, steam pouring from their engines, transporting the townspeople to and fro.

In this world, his world, there is no crime, no illness. Police exist to be friendly helpers. The fire is in an abandoned warehouse, no one is ever injured. People are happy. Unemployment and inflation do not exist. There’s no government. Everyone gets along. People have everything they need. Parents are there for their children. This world, an exact opposite of his own childhood, – a place he dreamed of, the safety he needed, the stability he craved. In this world, a shy boy spies a tiny, spunky girl and they fall in love at the age of 18, just like he did with my mom. A moment in time captured forever.

The water coming from the ceiling, the water coming from the floor threatens this world. It will need to be disassembled (No disassemble Stephanie – Johnny 5 is Alive!) to make the necessary repairs. My mom says she doesn’t care, she asked him to take it down years ago. The thought of taking it down gutted me. I cried, the tears falling as they did when I found out he was sick or when I lost him. It might be just a fake town, a collection of plastic and metal. The lights that shine might be fake – but the love, his love, still shines in his Utopia.