240p — Superman

He pulled me into a hug. The little boy’s cape crumpled between them. My mother was laughing now, a sound I had forgotten—bright and unburdened, from a time before the fights, before the silences, before the cancer.

The footage wobbled. My mother’s hand, probably. She was behind the camera, her breath fogging the lens on a cold autumn afternoon. The backyard of our old house. The dying oak tree. The sandbox shaped like a turtle. superman 240p

My father stood still for a long moment. He pulled me into a hug

But I saw his face.

My father nodded slowly. He reached out and straightened the red towel, which had twisted around my neck. His hands were black with grease. They left faint smudges on the cheap fabric. The footage wobbled

Not the gaunt, hollow-cheeked man I had held in a hospice bed last month. This was a different creature. Thirty years old. Thick arms. A black t-shirt stained with motor oil. His jaw was set like a vise. He was holding a cardboard box—one of those heavy ones full of engine parts—and walking toward the trash can. He didn’t see the camera.

My father.