The Final Pang

May 2019

            Senator Wilbur was afraid that his sweaty palms would work through the cardboard and ruin the contents of the box that he carried. Yet, he was more worried about it not getting delivered. It had shown up at his office two days ago; special delivery of Dwayne from the mailroom. The man had given him such a glare the whole time, even as Senator Wilber had thanked him by name. His glare had been one of the many searing his skin lately.

I wouldn’t know Dwayne’s name if not for Jung. Senator Wilber recognized. This revived his resolve. He climbed out of the car to stand on the chipped driveway on 28^thStreet. He glanced up at the brick house, cushioned between its wood neighbors. Its face had weathered with the years, but the flower boxes framing the two bottom windows kept its countenance cheery. That and its wide, open-air porch. This is where she lives.

            “Senator,” Brian spoke out of the front window. “With all due respect, it’s not good for you to be here.” 

Senator Wilbur eyed the bulky young man who’d been driving him over the last three sessions. He was working his way toward a degree in sociology. Senator Wilbur couldn’t think of a better place then the statehouse to gain some field experience. 

“I don’t care one way or the other.” He admitted to Brian with a slight smile. “When you come across people who wish to control your actions… don’t let them.”

Senator Wilbur left him with that and walked through the wire gate onto the simple square lawn. He came up on the house, box in hand and mind racing over what to say. He knocked and held his breath for the answer. The door was opened by a dark-haired man, gray at the temples and a face as weathered as his house. Judging by his upright posture and chin though, whatever time had thrown him, it hadn’t beaten him. He saw the same iron will that Jung carried. Did this man know what people were lucky enough to see it his daughter?

“Mr. Burgess.” Senator Wilbur nodded keeping his near mistake from saying ‘Pang’.

The slam of the front door blocked any further introductions. Senator Wilbur stood there pathetically, box still in his sweaty hands. He reaffirmed his grip, then knocked again. It took longer, but Mr. Burgess opened it. 

“I’m Senator Wilbur-“

“Yeah, I know who you are.” Mr. Burgess’ voice came cold and narrow, like his eyes. The senator cleared his throat.  “There was something I was unable to give Jung-“

“You already gave her plenty!” Mr. Burgess’ brow cracked his hard expression.

“If you spoke with her, then you’ll know nothing happened.” Senator Wilbur fought the fire spreading in his cheeks.

“I trust what my daughter tells me.” Mr. Burgess admitted. “But I would’ve trusted you to know better.” 

Know better as a senator or as a father? It had all become so clouded for Senator Wilbur. And he’d let it. The explosion of two weeks ago had yet to cool off, the rumors yet to die. The rumors as to why the senator had been paying Jung Pang so much attention. Smiling at her, laughing at what she had to say, taking his coffee breaks to visit her… it was gossip gold and he’d handed all the material needed on a rose-gold platter. 

It had about undone his wife… by the grace of God, she’d believed him. The same grace over Jung’s family it sounded like. Still, the fabrications wouldn’t cease for some time and he wished that sending Jung home was enough to spare her from it; the emails and Facebook posts thrown at her by the other interns. Their cruelty added to his fear for Jung. He was used to nitpicks and raw scraps given by the media; Jung wasn’t and Senator Wilbur didn’t want it to wear her down. People weren’t themselves when life wore them down. Senator Wilbur swallowed the bile of regret clogging his throat. “I don’t have any fair excuse for the way things were misconstrued. Yet, even with everything, I promised to help Jung with this.”

He held out the box, heartbroken that he wouldn’t see Jung’s face when she got it. Mr. Burgess drew back from the box, like it held the virus of yellow journalism. “I don’t know what your fascination is with Jung, but you need to-“

“This isn’t for Jung!” Senator Wilbur stopped him, a little tired of the curtness. He’d been encountering it all week and it did nothing to uplift the guilt already eating at him. “It’s the Father’s Day gift she was very desperate to find for you. I offered my help when she told me what it was.”

Mr. Burgess barely caught the box as Senator Wilber dropped it into his hands. The senator thought to tell him of the expensive cigars lying inside, which Jung had paid him for in advance. That she wouldn’t do it any other way. And she needed to wrap them herself. Make it personal… for her father.

“Jung is a pinnacle in this generation, Mr. Burgess-“ 

“I think you’ve given Jung enough compliments.”

“I’ll give them anyway.” Senator Wilber tightened his fingers into fists. “Because she deserves them. She’s-“ he thought of all the words he’d mulled over throughout the session, yet came up blank. No, not blank. Except for Rebecca’s face. Her sweet and smiling face, holding him up in hope all the years that she’d been alive. Mr. Burgess couldn’t know what it was like to lose that. To ask yourself what you could’ve done to keep it.

“She’s a daughter you can be proud of.” Senator Wilber settled for that sum up.  “You and your wife must realize that.“

“We do.” Mr. Burgess affirmed. Senator Wilbur swallowed. “Then I won’t be repetitive.” 

A politician always knew when his welcome was over-stayed. Senator Wilber turned and stepped down, feeling the familiar burn of confused tears. Why, God? Why would my daughter do this to me? How could You let her think-

“How old was your daughter?”

The question got Senator Wilber to look back at Mr. Burgess. His eyes had eased, the box an awkward fit in his hands. Senator Wilber drew a breath, drawing the tears back. “22.”

They studied each other, father to father. The wind picked up, creating comforting creaks in the fence. Had Mr. Burgess played with Jung in this yard? Taught her to walk, throw a ball, maybe. Jung always looked like she had an arm on her. Rebecca’s left had been wicked, but the rest of her had been too graceful for anyone to guess. Until they put her on second base-

“Rebecca was 22.” Senator Wilber repeated, wanting the shortness of the number to reach Mr. Burgess. “She always said that a day without a smile was a day wasted.”

Mr. Burgess leaned back on his heels, though the guard remained. Senator Wilbur stepped back to the porch, wanting his expression to explain what his words couldn’t. “It’s not just grief we’re fighting, Mr. Burgess. It’s… disbelief, and guilt. I met Jung and… it disappeared for a moment.’

‘I’m jealous of you, Mr. Burgess.” Senator Wilbur pressed at the corner of his eye with his thumb. “Jealous of what you and your wife have in Jung. She’s many things that Rebecca was. And now suicide’s something I have to associate with her. And- I can’t. I wanted some of the old memories back. And for what that cost Jung, I apologize.” 

The air hardly felt cleared, but Senator Wilbur breathed a little easier. He and Mr. Burgess were back to considering each other, until Mr. Burgess nodded. “I’ll let Jung know that you stopped by. And…” he gestured with the box. “Why.”

Senator Wilbur bobbed his head in thanks. “Pass along my apology as well.”

He turned and walked to the car and Brian. His sigh finally came with some resolve. The sadness was still there... but there was also hope. 

THE END