Daddy always checks the door three times when we leave home, but today it was four times and that was because Mama was mad at him. I heard them last night when they thought I was asleep, and Mama was saying, “Why won’t you talk to someone about this?” Then Daddy sounded like he was crying, but I don’t think he really was, because Daddy wouldn’t cry.

He’s always ready for anything.

Every day, Daddy packs his backpack twice, just to be sure it’s all there. He checks the stove knobs three times, and I can tell that he’s checking his wallet and keys and phone because he keeps putting his hands in his pockets.

Something I don’t understand is that I don’t think Daddy likes for people to know how well prepared he is. I think it’s something to do with sometimes he’s so careful that he ends up being late, like yesterday when he kept having to go back into the apartment to check things and Mama and I were waiting in the car, and that’s why she got mad at him last night.

Or like this morning when Daddy was taking me to school. It was just me and him since Mama had already gone to work. We were almost to the car, and then he stopped and said, “Hold on, I think I forgot something.” So we went back inside, and Daddy was almost at the door when I saw Ms. Park from down the hall.

“Hi, Ms. Park,” I said. Then Ms. Park said hi back, and Daddy told her that he’d forgotten his wallet, which wasn’t true because I’d seen him check it several times already. But Ms. Park and Daddy laughed one of those adult laughs that I don’t understand, because Mama and Daddy never think it’s funny when I forget something, and Ms. Park went out and then Daddy checked that our front door was locked again, and then we left.

“Daddy, why’d you lie to Ms. Park?” I said as we walked outside. “You already has your wallet. You were checking the door.” Daddy looked down at me and I could tell he was surprised—like, really surprised, because he didn’t even correct my grammar. “Daddy,” I said, “is something wrong?”

His face got really serious like the answer was yes, and he hugged me and lifted me into the backseat of the car. “Everything’s fine, peanut,” he said. “I just need to go to a doctor, and I’ve been putting it off. Let’s get you to school.” Then we drove off, and he was really quiet.

Daddy normally fidgets in the car, touching his pockets over and over when he thinks I’m staring out the window. This morning, I could see his left hand was doing that, going from the steering wheel, then to his pocket, then back to the steering wheel. But his right hand hovered, fingers twitching slightly. Like he was still trying to turn the key.

Zack Fox Loehle

received his MA degree in Professional Writing from Kennesaw State University. His writing appears in Barely South Review, Catamaran, The Los Angeles Review, Mental Floss, and elsewhere. He lives in Atlanta.

Author’s website: https://zackfoxloehle.com

More on the Web: By, About, and Beyond

⚡ Sun Rise, microfiction by Loehle in The Los Angeles Review (14 February 2025)

⚡ Hidden Flower, nonfiction by Loehle in Barely South Review (Issue 15.2, Spring 2024)

⚡ How the Word “Vanilla” Came to Mean “Boring”, nonfiction by Loehle in Mental Floss (10 November 2022)