OVER the FENCE, Val’s Version

I remember that night. Daddy said he had to go back to the school, and I said, “I’m coming too,” because I always liked going places with him. Mommy made her serious face, the one where her eyebrows look like they’re thinking really hard. She said okay, but only after she stared at Daddy for a long time. I didn’t know why she did that, but grown-ups do weird things sometimes.

The school looked different at night. Bigger. Quieter. Like it was holding its breath. Daddy held my hand tight, which I liked, because his hand is warm even when it’s cold outside.

Inside the classroom, I helped him with his work. I handed him markers and made sure all the papers were straight. Daddy said I was “a big helper,” and that made me feel tall.

Then I had to go potty.

Daddy took me into the hallway, and when we walked out, I saw the classroom door was open. I turned and went back to close it. It felt like a job, like Daddy had forgotten about the door.

It made a click sound.

Daddy stopped moving. He tried the handle. Then he stopped again. His face looked funny—like he was thinking ten things at once and none of them were good.

I tugged his sleeve. “Daddy, I still have to go.”

He said okay, but his voice sounded like he was trying not to shake. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t scared. I just had to go potty.

When we came back, Daddy looked around like he was checking for monsters. There weren’t any: just the big gate outside, the one with the pokey things on top. Daddy stared at it for a long time.

Then he knelt and held my face gently, like he was afraid I might break.

“Val,” he said, “we’re going to climb the fence together. You’re going to hold my neck real tight.”

I didn’t want to choke him. I told him that. He said I wouldn’t. He said he’d hold his breath. That made me giggle a little.

But then I asked, “What if we fall?”

Daddy’s eyes got soft and scared at the same time. He said, “We won’t. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He said it like a promise to the whole world.

So, I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. Daddy felt skinny, but strong. I could feel his heart thumping like a drum.

He started climbing. The fence rattled and made a scary sound, but Daddy kept going. I buried my face in his shoulder because the pokey metal looked mean. Daddy whispered, “I’ve got you,” and I believed him.

At the top, something grabbed his coat. Daddy froze. I felt him freeze. His whole body went tight like a statue. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I just held on.

Then Daddy shifted, slow like a turtle, and we started going down. When we reached the ground, Daddy’s knees went wobbly. He let me stand, and I said, “We did it!” because we did.

Daddy hugged me so tight I could feel his heartbeat in my cheek. He said I was brave. I liked that.

We walked six blocks to the janitor’s house. I skipped. Daddy didn’t. He kept looking at me like he was checking to make sure I was still okay. I was. I was more than okay. I felt like we had done something big.

And Daddy held my hand the whole way, squeezing it every few minutes like he was reminding himself I was there.

I didn’t know until later that the night scared him. I didn’t know the fence made him think of things he didn’t talk about. I just knew he held on tight, and I held on tight, and we got over it together.

That’s what I remember.

Not the fear. Not the fence. Just Daddy’s arms around me, and the way he whispered, “I’ve got you,” as he meant it more than anything in the world.