The streets are lined with classic lamp posts and tall trees, and the front door is a short set of steps from the sidewalk. No driveway, no distance between the doorbell and the public, it would have been the perfect place to play ding dong ditch when I was a kid. The problem here is that everyone has a camera attached to the awning above the door. After unloading my bags from the car service, we head inside.
“Okay, so the bottom floor is yours,” dad says, “I’m upstairs,” he gestures to the staircase by the front door.
“Oh, right. Cool.” He didn’t ask me for food, and even though I’m hungry, I won’t ask him either. I’m sure I won’t die for not eating for a couple of hours.
Heading downstairs, I’m frustratingly captivated with my new living arrangements. Dropping my bags on the floor, I flopped across the bed and buried my face in the soft material, wishing I could live anywhere but with him.
It’s eight at night, I get a shower, and before I get starved to death, I go upstairs.
Dad is eating dinner with the television on. He looks surprised to see me as if he had already forgotten about my existence. “Hi, um, do you want to eat something?” He awkwardly looks at the last slice of pizza he’s having. I sigh and go to the kitchen to search for dome food. There’s nothing in the refrigerator. This infuriates me more than anything, and I close it with a bang. “There are some cereals in the cupboard,” Dad calls out from the living room. I take a deep breath and decide to sleep instead, but not before shouting, “I don’t eat cereals.”
It’s close to midnight when I hear footsteps padding down the staircase, legs come into view, and I panic for a moment until I see dad. He wanders in and stands at the threshold with a paper bag forming grease stains on the bottom corner. I roll my eyes at him. So, now he has decided to bring me food. “I bought food for you, kid.”
“I don’t want to eat anything. I’m sleepy,” I muttered. He doesn’t get the hint. “Oh, Okay. Have you already eaten?”
“No, and I don’t want to. Just go and let me sleep” I switch off the television and then start checking my phone. “Okay then!” He says after a while and leaves the food packet on the table. I let out an irritated breath and sink into the comforter and let exhaustion swallow me up.
My thoughts are with home as I drift out. My real home, mom, the loss of control I’ve felt since she has gone and lost all sense of purpose. In fact, more than purpose. I’ve lost a sense of self.
It’s been a couple of weeks now, and my dad’s behavior hasn’t changed. But even when we don’t communicate, he at least gives me money to buy food. Thank god, he’s feeding me up, or I would have died. Well, that wouldn’t be so bad either. But he at least gave me money, so I decided to order food.
I haven’t left the house even once yet. I just sit in my bed all day and binge movies. I don’t know what else to do. I had always been wrapped up in my own little world with mom, and now that she’s not here, I don’t know what to do with my life anymore.
Now standing in front of the mirror, I don’t recognize myself. It should have been me instead of my mother. Why did she go when she was such a lively soul. She would have been enjoying life to the fullest now.
“Hey, kiddo?” dad calls from upstairs. He always calls me kid or kiddo, never with my real name. I don’t mind, though. It’s cute. I shout, “Yes, what is it?” “Get ready in 15 minutes. We’re going shopping, Okay?” I groan but agree to go because of not having anything better to do. I run upstairs to find him outside talking to a young man. “There she is,” Dad says.
“Kiddo, this is my assistant. We call him AP. It pretty much sums up his name also.” AP smiles warmly at me, but I just nod a little and move forward. He looks like a university student to me and way too young for the job, but who knows. And while I have many questions to ask, I don’t.
We reach a shopping arcade. It’s summer, so I buy some comfortable PJs and tees. While going through the dress section, I find a blue color dress that looks pretty. “Go on, try this one,” Dad says from behind me. AP also roam the sections with him but doesn’t talk much. I roll my eyes but smile a little. While I don’t have anywhere to go to wear this dress, too, I get a little excited while trying it out.
I shuffle through the sleeves and feel a little sensation in my left hand. I look at the hand and realize that the hand with a cast is now wrapped out in the sleeves of this dress. I feel my mood dampen, and when I look in the mirror again, I don’t feel pretty anymore. I think I don’t deserve to be pretty. “Kiddo? You there?” I take a deep breath and go out.
“Oh, my darling. You look so beautiful in that dress.” He looks awestruck.
“Thank you,” I respond politely. Dad watches me, his glassed-over gaze piercing me between slow blinks like I’m a familiar stranger he can’t quite recall how he knows.
“You look like your mom,” he mumbles, shaking off his trance. “I remember how beautiful she was the same age, you are now.” My mood does a full 180, and I feel my face getting hot. I go inside and change the dress hurriedly. Then I sprint past my dad and AP to the exit.
I don’t look at my dad. How dare he bring my mother’s topic so casually. He’s didn’t even know her. What does he think of himself? I don’t want to see his face.
Not knowing where to go, I stop for a little while outside. “What is your problem?” His voice booms. I see my dad looking out of breath with AP in line with shopping bags. Still not in any mood to deal with my dad, I stare at AP and say, “Take me home, AP.” It’s the first time I’ve spoken to him, so he looks startled.
“Actually,” dad says as the car service pulls up to the curb. “Now that I have the afternoon free, I will work on some scripts, and I’ll need my assistant. Get in, and I’ll drop you at home first.”
He opens the car door, but I stay put. “No, AP can drop me at home. I don’t want to go with you.”
“He’s my assistant, kid. He’s not obliged to take orders from you. Plus, not everything is about you.” Although I’m not sure why, hearing him say that, hurts.
“Whatever,” I don’t look at AP because I can feel the apologetic tension radiating from him. Instead of getting in the car, I walk off down the road.
“We’re in the middle of a road, kid,” dad calls. “Get in the car.”
“I’ll get a taxi.” I start looking for rentals on my phone. I think that’s the end of it, but I register the footsteps running after me just a moment too late, and then I’m hoisted over someone’s shoulder.
“You are such a stubborn little shit sometimes,” dad carries me back to the car. “Why does everything have to escalate so quickly with you? I’m not leaving my daughter alone.”
I struggle, kicking and hitting as he puts me down and pushes me to the back seat. “Hello, is no one concerned that I’m being kidnapped!”
People walking down the sidewalk ignore the struggle, and I’m in genuine shock at the ‘none of my business’ vibes coming from each and every one of them.
“Give it a rest,” dad sighs and slams the door once I’m in the car. He gets on the other side, and AP sits in the front. “I hate you,” I snap, feeling hot with frustration.
“It’s a good thing I’ve never really cared whether I’m hated or not then, isn’t it,” dad says, focused on his phone. Even with a flippant tone, I can hear the edge of hurt, and underneath the anger, I feel guilt.
I have heard noises from upstairs. It seems like dad’s busy with the production team. Dad and I haven’t spoken since that day after I got mad at him for bringing up mom. He came downstairs in ten minutes intervals, stuck his head in the door, saw me watching a movie, and then went upstairs again.
Eventually, he asked if I wanted food or water. The answer was no, but not because I was mad at him, because I was mad at me.
Constantly lashing out at people is exhausting. And I know he didn’t do anything intentionally. I’m just very wound up from the inside, and I need to clear my head. There’s too much stuff in here. I feel like I can’t even communicate without replaying the conversations a hundred times in my mind.
I have been just sleeping or watching movies all day. I feel like I don’t know a thing about this world. Finally, I decided to head upstairs to eat cereals that I’ve been eating for the past few days.
Walking in the kitchen, I see the team working dedicatedly. Most of them are in casual attire and are working on their computers or going through some documents. It looks so lively here, and I kind of find it very fascinating that all these things will come together to form a movie. All these people love being a part of something big. I can tell this just by looking at their faces. The excitement combines the creativity and originality of the theme, genre, narrative structure, character portrayal, directing, cinematography, editing, and many more things.
Sipping through a coffee, I search for my dad and find him discussing some documents with a lady. I walk over to him and lean forward to see him working on some dialogues. He catches me staring and smiles reluctantly. I smile back. He beams and goes back to work.
After a moment, I realize my dad’s movie isn’t scoring like it used to before. I may not know him personally before, but I have always known him as one of the directors in the industry, just like I have known others. Though I never wanted him to be my dad, my mother once told me that he was my father who had decided to leave me when I was three years old to pursue his film career. I was okay with the fact because it didn’t make a difference to me. My reaction caught my mother off guard. I guess she wanted me to throw some tantrum or something. Ha! Never been that kid mother.
I told her she’s my entire world, and it doesn’t make a difference if I have a dad or not. I had my mother, and it was enough. I was happy in my little world with her. Though my world is shattered now, and I’m left to live with a stranger who doesn’t even want me in the first place.
Suddenly feeling claustrophobic in this house, I feel the need to go out. It’s a windy day in town. As I step outside, I feel a sudden jolt of cold hair. I should have brought a jacket or something. I hug my body a little and start walking down the street.
I tell myself I am searching for something. But more and more, it feels like I am wandering, waiting for something to happen to me, something that will change everything, something that my whole life has been leading up to.”
The place is beautiful. I realize I haven’t been out once. What am I even doing with my life? What am I even going to do in the future? Just thinking about my future starts giving me anxiety.
If my present is not sorted out, how am I supposed to plan my future? Growing up, I always felt like I knew what to do. I had dreams that needed to be chased. Dreams that seem irrelevant to me now.
I don’t even know my dad very well, but I can always live with him and do the house chores, or maybe get a job in a bookstore. Though I am sure he won’t allow me, it will be a huge blow to his ego. But what about when he dies? He has a shit ton of money. I can survive my life living in a one-room department, but that seems very…boring.
I don’t even have a hobby now. My old hobbies don’t make sense to me now. It feels like a lifetime ago when I used to do so many things with my mom. But now that I don’t have her, I realize I don’t like them anymore. Maybe I never liked doing them. I just liked my time with my mother cause it meant we were enjoying our time, creating memories.
I didn’t realize the time, but suddenly it was dark. Shuffling through my pockets, I find I don’t have my phone with me. Ugh! Great!
“You know, it’s not safe to walk down the streets, alone, at night.” I startle and find AP next to me. Now that we’re standing, he’s taller than I realized, a head and a half above my five foot five inches. “What the hell, dude?” I urge the tightening in my chest to release. “Are you following me?”
“Nope,” he laughs. “Saw you were walking down the streets alone from my window, so decided to accompany you. You lost?” He studies me for a while, when I don’t answer. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to your house.” He says, “Thanks,” I mutter.
We started walking down to a completely different street from where I was heading. “So, how’re your days going?” Ugh, I was dreading this only. My heading’s too cloud up to think of anything, so I just say, “good.”
“Hmm. It doesn’t seem like it, though” I shoot him a glare, and he puts his hand in the air, “kidding, you seem to be having fun. So much fun.”
“Whatever” I roll my eyes and start walking ahead even though I don’t know the direction. “Um, turn right side now,” He says from behind and then catches up to me. We take the turn, and I can already see my house at the far end.
“Um, I heard about your mother, and I want you to know I’m sorry.” I stop to take some deep breaths. I don’t want to blow up at him when he’s so kind and generous to me. “Thank you,” I reply sincerely. “Yeah, and I also wanted to let you know that it wasn’t your fault. Okay? You don’t have to feel guilty for that.” I nod again, hoping he’ll stop now. He doesn’t. “My parents also died when I was young I understand-“
“Stop. Just stop talking. Don’t compare our situations. Okay? I don’t want your sympathy. I am not interested in talking to you.” Saying this, I take a run for my house.
I feel furious. AP doesn’t know anything about me. He didn’t know her. He doesn’t know she didn’t deserve this. He doesn’t know anything. Nobody does. Mom died because of me. I did this to her. Her own daughter.
I enter the house out of breath and close the door with a loud bang. I don’t care if people are still over. I don’t care about anything. I go to my room and climb into my bed. Finally, the tears start coming, and I welcome them because I deserve this. I deserve tears. I deserve pain. But she didn’t. Mom dedicated her whole life to me, gave me the world cause she thought I deserved that, but I don’t. I don’t deserve to live, and she didn’t deserve to die.
There was a hideous splotch of pale purple that marred the base of my mom’s neck and the same hue of mauve on the side of her right wrist. It was as if death had painted her from one palette, unceasing when he got to the other part, without washing off the paint.
I try to shut my eyes tightly, but the images won’t go away. I see her with my eyes closed. I see her death. I try to sleep. Hoping death would engulf me.
“You’ve got some nerve.”
I roll over in bed, squint through one eye and find dad next to me. He rips the comforter off me and starts to shout. “Not even a text to let me know where you are.”
My heart is pounding while I try to pull the comforter back, “Where were you?” He asks again.
“I went outside for a walk then got lost” He stares at me while I huddle back under the comforter. “You walked home alone?”
“No, AP walked me home.” I cough a little. “Why does it matter?”
He palms his jaw and paces beside the bed. “It matters because I didn’t know where you were, and you couldn’t send me one single text message to let me know. Rude, kiddo. Rude.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. He stops, and the outrage is so comical I could laugh. “Excuse me?”
I mutter, “Don’t like you care about me.”
“First of all, I do care about you. You’re my daughter. Second of all, you didn’t inform me you were out for a walk. If you could just text me, I wouldn’t be worried about you getting in some accident.”
The word is like a cold bucket of ice. It stings, it’s a harsh slap, and I see red as I stand up and fling the comforter back. Suddenly, I’m covered, head to toe, in a crawling sensation. I can’t see. I can’t hear my own thoughts. “Get out.”
Dad watches me barge past him, heading for the shower. His jaw is on the floor, but I’m too sick to stop and acknowledge the hurt on his face. I slam the bathroom door, turn on the shower, and throw up in the toilet as quietly as I can.
“Hey,” he pounds on the door. “What the hell? What did I do?”
Tears streamline down my cheeks, empty stomach vomit stings my nose and burns my throat as I drag myself into the shower, clothed. Dad continues banging, demanding to know what he could’ve possibly done to upset me so much.
“Leave me alone,” I scream. There’s a ringing in my ears and warmth from the side of my head and bile rising from my throat because I can smell it. I can smell death. The same I did when my mother died.
Accident. Car Accident. Accident
The word makes me gag, and more bile comes up, swirling around the drain hole.
The sound of shattered glass hitting the pavement and the buzzing of horns is engrained in my mind. The copper taste of my own blood was mixed in with the salt of my tears because when I opened my eyes, I saw so much red. There was red, and there was black because my mother had already started bruising. For some goddamn reason, I only had one fractured bone.
“I hate myself” I keep muttering this to myself in the shower. I sit on the floor, knees to my chest, mom’s dead face clouding the forefront of my thoughts. I wish I’d never seen her dying in front of me.
That evening, her eyes. It’s always her eyes. I see it all the time. I saw them in pain, closing for the last time. The memory won’t go. It’s fresh. It’s fresh again.
Sometimes I wish I was knocked out cold then so I wouldn’t have to live with these bursts of memories.
The razor I shave my legs with is on the floor next to me. I pick it up and break it, the blades fall out, and I pick one up.
My wrist hurts, but it’s a different kind of pain. Blood runs off, a bright red against the white tile, swirling around the drain hole. Watered-down blood reminds me of food coloring. It’s prettier than straight blood, easier to look at. This is easier.
Inhaling becomes frantic; grasping for oxygen is almost impossible as I pick up a razor again and try to press it into my wrist. It hurts, it’s a relief, the blood washes off under the rain of the shower, and I wait for it to wash the truth away with it. I close my eyes.
“Kiddo,” dad is right in front of me, and I see tears on his cheeks. “What are you doing?” Suddenly, I’m looking at the ceiling, and I’m floating through the air, Dad’s face above me. We get to my room, and he puts me on the bed, sniffing and sobbing. “Awh,” I palm his cheeks. “Don’t cry, daddy. Don’t be sad. I’ll be sad.”
He takes my hand and shuffles through some band-aids or something to stop the blood flow. I look at the blood drops. I guess I didn’t dig harder to kill myself. “Honey,” Dad sobs. “Why would you hurt yourself like this? Please, please tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m not hurting, I feel, I can’t feel my body. It’s so nice.” I look at the ceilings. He doesn’t say anything for a while and takes deep breaths.
“I hate me, you know. I think I should just die until I bleed out. I’m sick of it. It should have been me instead of mom. I can’t live like this, dad. I can’t.”
Arms wrap around me from behind, and my face is wet, and I struggle because I want to lie face down in a bath with my wrists open because I’m done hurting.
“Let me go,” I scream into the pillow, pulling away. “I’m done. I want to be done. “He murmurs. “No, kiddo, I love you.” No, please, let me go. I allow the darkness to welcome me.
Daylight breaks in through the curtains, spiling into my room prismatically, just like last night’s shards of the shattered blade, and seeps into my skin like prickly thorns. It’s not welcoming and warm. Instead, it’s blazing and fiery.
Last night is a blur. When I peer through half-closed lids, dad is asleep next to me. I’m too ashamed to look at my dad, so I pretend to sleep.
“Get dressed. We’re going somewhere.” He murmurs.
“What?” He stands up. Fatigue is written all over him. “It’s time we talk, kiddo. Be upstairs in 15.” Dad doesn’t say more, he leaves the room, practically dragging his feet, and I’m alone again. Whatever his plan is, I don’t have the energy to argue with him. I look at my wrist, wrapped up in messy band-aids. I sigh and fix it.
Upstairs, dad is dressed up and busy with his phone, tapping on the screen and not acknowledging my presence. Images of his sobbing face came flooding in, and it’s like a tidal wave of emotion, threatening to knock me over. Dad cried for me. Dad never cries.
“Car’s here,” he looks at me. “Come on.”
The car ride is silent. Dad turns into a small sandy road, and I have no idea where we are. I look out the windows, confused. Where’s he taking me?
After a few minutes of silent driving, he says, “Okay! Here we are!”
I open my door as well and look around, still unsure of where we’re. A big hill surrounds us, with trees in every view. The ground is rock and sand.
“Where are we?” I ask, totally oblivious to what is going on.
“Kiddo, come around this side of the car.” I walk around the front to where dad is standing and see it. The big Hollywood sign is on top of us, up the hill. My mouth drops as I take in the amazing sight. I always knew about it but experiencing it is a totally different thing. The sun is up halfway up the hill, and it makes the hill look beautiful. “Come on,” Dad smiles a little and gestures me to follow him.
We walk up the hill, along the sandy drive, as there is no footpath. I am not sure what to make conversation about, so I start with, “Why did you bring me here?” I can tell his face has softened into a smile beside me.
“I’m not sure why. I always come here. It used to be your mom’s favourite spot.” I feel my chest tightening a little but smile up at him.
Before I know it, we are at the top. The sign is to our left. We sit down side by side. I take a moment to look around me and see where I am and how far I have come. The car we had driven here in was just a small object below us.
The Hollywood sign, I find so mesmerizing. This is where the best films are made that captivate the audience. It connects with people on a personal level. I take a look at my dad and wonder how many films he had made that associated with people. How he even got the inspiration.
“What do you think?” he asks. “It’s perfect. This is perfect.” I smile, still fazed by the beauty.
“I know. Not many people come up here anymore, which is a shame with a view like this.” The conversation fades, and we spend the rest of the hour in silence, an uncomfortable one on my part.
Waiting for him to bring up the cutting is torture of its own form. A thousand different conversations run through my mind, potential excuses, justifications, lies.
“Let me tell you something,” dad suddenly breaks the silence, his voice has an edge to it, and there’s a shimmer lining the rim of his eye. “One of the worst moments of my life was the night I moved out. You screamed and cried and begged me not to go. You wrapped yourself around my leg, and I had to pull you off and listen to your little voice, pleading with me not to leave you.” His chin is quivering now, and I can feel the sting of my own tears.
“I didn’t think that sort of pain could be topped,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Until last night. When I saw you cutting your wrist, when I had to listen to you begging me to let you go, I can’t even describe that pain. That really tore my chest open, kid.”
A tear slips down my cheek. “I don’t really want to…die,” I murmur because it’s true, I don’t. Last night, I did, but I’m glad dad was there because I don’t really want to end my life. I just want to end the hurt. I don’t want to keep feeling pain every time I think about my mom. It should’ve been me instead of mom. I know deep within my heart she died because of me.
“I don’t know what to do,” he throws his arms wide. “I don’t know what to do. Really. I’m not qualified to deal with this. I’ve been a shit dad. Hell, technically, I have never been a dad. What right do I have to tell you that you can trust me? You probably feel like you can’t trust me. This is something a mother would deal with. But she’s not here. How am I supposed to help you kid when you wouldn’t open up?” I don’t know what to tell him. He wants to know what I need from him, but I don’t know what I need. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know how to stop having these painful flashbacks and moments of utter weakness that push me into self-mutilation. I don’t have a clue where the answers are either.
“I want to help. I want to do the right thing for you. I left you and your mom because I wanted to chase my dreams and she wasn’t willing to come half way through the world with me. We mutually decided to part ways. But I still wonder what would have happened if she had come with me. I miss her all the time. Though the memories we made were enough for me. I wanted to meet you also kid, however, I just kept on delaying it. But here, we are now. My wife is dead, my daughter is hurting, and I have no clue about what to do. I’m stuck, kiddo. I want to help. I want to make it better. How can I make it better? Please tell me.”
I’m a mess, and now he is too. He’s crying, and it’s a pain no blade could come close to matching. “I don’t want my little girl to hurt anymore,” he wipes his face. “Tell me how to help.”
I can’t even look at him, but the sincerity in his voice breaks the dam, and I burst into tears. “I don’t know, dad. I don’t know anything. All I know is I see her dead face every time I close my eyes. She never wanted to die so young, you know. I feel guilty. She died because of me, right? Tell me. Please.” My voice gives out, “I just miss her, dad.” He catches me before I fall, and he sinks to the ground with me, his arms encasing me while he also cries.
“No baby, it wasn’t your fault. Okay? We’ll figure this out.” he murmurs. His hold is tight enough that I have a little bit of hope I won’t fall apart more than I already have.
“Dad, it hurts.” I don’t even recognize my own voice.
“I know,” he kisses my head. Dad rocks us back and forth, right there on the grassy ground, and I let him hold me because I’ve been holding myself for so long, and I can’t do it alone anymore.
And the grief bleeds out. The longer he tells me he’s here, the tighter he holds me, the more I cry, the lighter I begin to feel. “I’m here, kiddo. I’ve got you.”
Few months later
“Dad!” He takes a look at me but doesn’t respond. “Let’s go home, please.” He nods a little but keeps on talking to the bald man. Ugh, this is so boring. I take a look at the surrounding.
The last few weeks have been weird. I’m feeling good, dad hasn’t been at work much, but the crew sometimes comes home. Though, mostly it’s just dad and me. All we’ve done is hung around the house, watch movies, eaten food, and skirted around certain topics. Oh, and of course, he has been telling me things about films. I find scripts the most fascinating.
“Not liking the event much?” A woman next to me asks. I shake my head politely at her and start picking the sleeve of my blue dress. The entire two hours I spent doing my hair, make-up, and getting ready for the event, dad lay on my bed, already in a suit, talking about this, that, and the next thing. I don’t mind his weird babbling so much.
“You’re his daughter, right?” She asks again, gesturing to dad. This time I reply, “Yes, miss. Dad wouldn’t come for the event, but I pestered him to, and now I’m regretting.” I sigh.
The lady nods a little, she doesn’t ask about mom, but I’ll openly speak about mom if she does. My therapist says my PTSD is getting better. “You enjoy your time with him?” She asks again, and I nod. “Hmm! That’s good. Girls need their dads. It’s a true thing. Girl not having her daddy can give her all sorts of problems.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Oh, for sure. No self-esteem, looking for love in the arms of men who don’t treat her right because her daddy never set the right example. You know, even subconsciously, a girl will end up with a man who mirrors her daddy. She grows up watching how he treats her momma, and that’s the standard. Even when Jamal and I split up, I said to him, our little girl needs to see her daddy as a hero, even in divorce. I told him to be that hero for her. He did, and our baby girl married a fine man.”
I sneak a look at dad and see the distance in his stare like he’s plagued with thoughts, and I wonder how my life would have been dad had not been with me?
The car ride is silent except for dad reminding me to meet him exactly after 15 minutes in the kitchen.
“You’re two minutes late” That’s what he says as soon as I enter. It irritates me so much that he keeps track of every second. “Sorry, dad.” I smile at him innocently. He shakes his head, “Where were we?”
“They were trying to cross the frozen lake,” I say immediately. “And Marjorie was telling everyone about frostbite prevention.”
“Oh, was she?” Dad asks, but I can hear the laughter in his voice.
“Okay. So they’re about to cross the lake…” He pauses, and I wait, knowing that any minute now, he’d suggest a possibility, and we’d go from there.
“Oh, right. Well, I think she would also try to warn them about Karl. It makes sense for the story.” And the next minute, the doorbell rang.
“It’s food. I’ll get it.” Dad goes for it, and I begin working on the scripts. Helping my dad with his films has been the best decision I’ve ever made.
After 10 minutes, I stop to check on him. What in the world he’s doing now? Talking to a delivery guy.
As I go outside, I see dad talking to AP. Of course, he brought up the food. He notices me instantly and smiles like usual. Dimples pierce his cheeks. And, this time, I smile back at him, not forcibly but wholeheartedly. He stares for a moment and then goes back to talking with dad.
I lean on the doorframe, and then my eyes find my wrist. The cuts are healing, I no longer need the band-aids, but they’re still red and visible.
I wonder what would’ve happened if dad hadn’t saved me. I look at him. and my chest tightens at the sight of my dad, and before I know it, there’s a sting of tears welling. An emotion far greater than I’d been prepared for. I wish mom would’ve been here to see this, but now, I’m sure she’s happy out there. She’s happy to see me with my dad.
My dad. I love my dad, and not just as a human being. I love him as a parent also. I knew he wouldn’t waste the second chance he’s got with me. The man who has pulled me through the darkest moments of my life would give me what he’d failed to all those years ago, the world.
This time he’d give me the world because he knows that’s what I deserve. He believes that. Mom did too. And now I’ve also started believing that.
THE END
Leave a Reply