YELLOW

Daddy was a trucker.

An overhaul, large freight, tractor-trailer. He hauled large pieces of equipment, supplies for major corporations, even once a "top-secret", super expensive car for a blockbuster action movie. No matter what it was, Daddy hauled it across 48 states. YELLOW was the first word I learned to spell. Y-E-L-L-O-W is what I'd spell when teachers asked what my Daddy did for a living. You see, he drove for YELLOW trucking company, and those letters were emblazoned  in large orange letters on the top and sides of his truck. Anyone from miles around could see who he worked for--YELLOW could be seen from miles down the road.

Seeing those letters still makes me happy. To this day, it gives me butterflies and makes my stomach all warm.

Daddy would be gone for weeks at a time working, so that left me and Mama alone a lot. But whenever Daddy was on his way home--after dumping his cargo across the country--he'd call the house just to let me know. The moment the phone rang, I always knew when it was him. I'd drop whatever I was doing and rush to the kitchen, clawing at Mama's skirt until she handed the receiver down to me. "ETA ready, baby girl," he'd say, wanting to let me know the exact time he'd be pulling back into town. Our house was only a few blocks from the highway and right before the exit for our town. There was a spot in the highway where the sound barrier had cracked and a small opening was visible. Daddy showed it to me once, and it was where I returned once a month.

On those days, I'd watch the clock on our kitchen wall like a hawk. I hovered in the kitchen, running back and forth from my room numerous times and willing the time to speed up. At the appointed hour, I'd rush out to the garage and jump onto my big-wheel. I paddled out of the garage and headed towards the highway--my feet never pumping hard enough.

My heart was always so light and happy. I thought about his face and smile and paddled faster. Being away from him for so long was cruel torture. All I wanted was to be wrapped in his arms.

The trees would thin and I could see the sound barrier stretching in front of me. I could hear the roar of the highway as I got closer and I slowed down my big-wheel. I pulled over on the side of the road, jumped off my ride and jumped over the safety fence that separated me from the highway. I crawled beneath the underbrush and stood up, sodden with grass and weeds. I inched through the crack in the sound barrier, and the wind from the highway would whip my face.

Horns blared, heat rose from the asphalt, and the smell of gasoline engrossed me. But my attention was to the north, where Daddy's truck would be any minute. I eagerly looked for him, excitement building.

And right on time--as he always was-- YELLOW appeared on the horizon. Daddy was a mere half mile from me. My heart leaped and I literally jumped for joy. I jumped, I hooted and hollered, and waved my Daddy into the home stretch. He knew exactly where to look for me, and as soon as our eyes met he bore down on his truck horn.

BEEP!BEEP!BEEP!BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!was his welcome, for me and only me. It was the sound of  his love. I could see his hands waving, but he kept on beeping his horn until he passed me on the highway and drove on to the truck depot, where he'd drop off his truck and come home to me.

It was our tradition. Our secret way of greeting each other after weeks of separation. It was our special moment of love and something I lived for every month. Mama hated it, saying I was liable to get hit by a car or worse. Every time I left the house she rolled her eyes and told me to be careful. I always was and trusted Daddy with all my heart.

As soon as he was out of sight, I was back , crawling under the underbrush and hopping the fence. I'd race home with the adrenaline of a full grown man. The way home was always quicker, and I'd be firmly planted on my front porch before I knew it. I always waited for Daddy in this same spot. Even if it took all night, I'd wait and wait for that first embrace. Daddy needed to unload his truck, return supplies, collect his pay, and sometimes he stayed after to speak to some of his buddies--which sometimes was an all night affair and Mama would have to tuck my sleeping form into bed. Most nights, though, he'd race down the street like a bat out of hell, barely parking the car in our driveway. No matter how tired he was, he'd jump out of the car, we'd rush to each other and he'd swing me around into a tight embrace. After, we'd sit down on the porch--me cradled in his arms--and he'd tell me all about his latest trucking adventure.

"I drove all the way to California, Jenny. Do you know where that is?" he'd ask.

"Tell me, Daddy," I'd say even if I knew perfectly well where the state was.

"It's clear on the other side of the country. Had to drive through 9 states just to get there. It's where all the pretty movie stars live."

"Prettier than me, Daddy?'

"No one is prettier than you, baby girl."

I'd smile and lean back into his arms, as he continued to talk. Most nights, I'd fall asleep right there and he'd lift me up and take me into my room and to bed.

It was in those moments that I knew how much my Daddy loved me and never wanted to leave me. The separation was torture for him, too. The visits were always short--never more than a week--and eventually Daddy was back out on the road. But I knew our tradition would keep me with him always.

Eventually, the road-trips got longer, the phone calls got shorter, and his days home were virtually nonexistent. I heard them fighting a lot--Mama and Daddy. On the phone, in person, the screaming was constant. Then the front door would slam and the house would be silent again. Mama cried herself to sleep almost every night and Daddy started sleeping on the couch. His affection never waned for me. He was as attentive and loving to me as he'd always been. But our house became uneasy and the air was hot with tension. Something was changing. My family was changing.

Then one day, after an extremely long and loud night, Daddy didn't come home. Not for breakfast. Not for lunch. Not even dinner. Days passed and he never called or came to pick up clean clothes. I waited on the porch all day, knowing he'd be back any moment. Mama had to put me to bed that night, after I fell asleep on the hard wooden planks.

Daddy never came home after that. Never came back to us or his house. Mama told me he had left us for his other family.

"Other family?" I asked.

She looked at me long and hard and answered me truthfully. "Daddy has another family, Jenny. Another little girl with another Mama. In Oregon."

She kept talking, crying eventually and then clinging to me like I was the adult. I didn't understand. I didn't understand how my Daddy could have another family. I comforted my Mama as best as I could but I was far from understanding what it all meant.

I convinced myself that Mama was wrong and that Daddy was just on an extra long haul. He'd be home any day--jumping from his car and swinging me around in a warm embrace. I started staking out the crack in the highway--our special place and where I always felt most secure. That's where I spent my Saturday's and my after school hours. I peered down the highway until my eyes hurt from the strain. "Any minute now," I'd whisper to myself, kind of like a prayer.

But he never came back.

Most nights, Mama would come get me from the highway as it started to get dark. She'd beep the horn and I'd wordlessly admit my defeat and retreat back to her car and home. Never once did she roll her eyes as I climbed into the passenger seat. She was silent and rarely looked at me. I know in her heart she was hoping YELLOW pulled onto the highway that day, but she never said a word. She just kept driving.

The last time I saw my Daddy was 10 years ago. He would call every once in awhile-- on the weekends, birthdays, Christmas. But eventually those calls happened less and less. He made a lot of empty promises about bringing me out to see him. I cried to him, begged him to come home and love my Mama again. To love me again. He always said he loved me to the tip of his toes but I'd understand one day why he couldn't come home.

I never learned to understand why he couldn't come home. Why my Mama and me weren't enough. Why he would never sweep me into his arms again. Why our love didn't fill him the way his new family did.

But I have never stopped looking for him. To this day, every time I pass a tractor-trailer on the highway I steal a glance at the driver, hoping to find my Daddy.

And Y-E-L-L-O-W still makes my heart skip a beat.