The Hidden Truth
I remember the day that he entered my life with great clarity. I was sitting in math class when the door flung open, and in walked a man who had to be at least six feet tall. His shirttail was hanging out, and his pants ended a bit too far above his ankles. His glasses sat crooked on the bridge of his nose, and his hairline was receding. The weirdest part was the immediate sympathy I felt for this quirky, unkempt man. He cleared his throat and announced, "My name is Mr. Douglass, and I will be teaching here for the duration of the year."
The name Douglass ran through my mind at least ten times before it hit me. I raised my hand and marveled at how much it trembled. Mr. Douglass nodded at me, and I squeaked out, "What is your first name?" I closed my eyes in attempt to shield myself from the upcoming answer.
I held my breath as he responded, "My name is Jonathon but most call me John." I was glad to be sitting because I am sure I would have fallen if I were standing. I felt my chest tighten, and my stomach knotted up. I took weird arrhythmic breaths and told myself that there was more than one John Douglass in the world. My reasoning failed me, and instinct insisted that this man in front of me was my so-called father.
I could feel my heart pounding in my ears as I ran in the deserted halls. All the different colors blurred together, and the door seemed unreachable. I clutched my hall pass tightly, thankful that Mr. Douglass had excused me from class, as the tears began to flow. My legs barely carried me, but they knew where they were going. In seconds, I had reached the outside, and the brisk cold air felt sharp on my bare skin. I knew I would be in trouble for leaving but I could not go back. Not to him, to the man who chose to live his life without me in it. I turned into my driveway and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw my mother's car.
I walked inside and realized the pass was still in my hand. I examined it, now wrinkled, and smudged from my sweaty palm. His handwriting was beautiful, and I loved it. I hated that I loved it, so I tore the pass into pieces. I watched them flutter to the ground as my mom stepped into the hall. "Gabriella Montez, what on earth are you doing home?" my mother asked sounding stern yet curious.
I raised my eyes to meet her gaze and whispered, "I...I...I met him today. I met my father. I know it was he. I just know it."
My mother's face fell, and tears began to brim her under eyelashes. She let out a sigh and asked, "How do you know?"
We took a seat at the kitchen table, and I proceeded to recount the experience. My mother sat still as if she was under hypnosis, and I never once saw a flicker of emotion. After several silent minutes, she rolled her shoulders and gulped in some air. She reached out to rest a hand on my forearm and admitted, "Well, honey. I think it is time for the truth. My relationship with your father was complicated to say the least. At one time, he was the sweetest man I had ever met. He was handsome, funny, and very intelligent. Actually, he did aspire to be a teacher. Math was always his best subject and he majored in it at college. However, over time all of this changed. He began to drink heavily, and he made some wrong turns in life. He was distant and cruel to everyone who tried to help. In our second year at Michigan State, I learned that I was pregnant with you and I got scared. I did not want to stay with John so I packed a suitcase and left town. I got on a bus and never looked back." She broke away from her memories and squeezed my arm.
I swatted her away and stood up, pushing back my chair with a screech. "So you mean to tell me that my father does not even know I exist?" I shouted with rage. I did not give her time to answer as I continued to scream. "How could you do this to me and how could you lie? For sixteen years, I thought that my father knew about me but did not care enough to be a part of my life! Why would you put me through this?" I persisted.
"Gabi, I had your best interest at heart. Please, you must believe me." She insisted.
"My best interest, my best interest! You are unbelievable. You know that the only person you cared about was yourself!" I yelled furiously as I turned and left the room leaving my mother broken. I pushed away the image of the pain in her eyes and ran to the front hall. Racking sobs ran through me and echoed off the walls. I collapsed to the floor and watched heavy tears fall onto the polished wood. When I had cried away every emotion from my fragile body, I gathered the torn pieces of my hall pass. I dashed to my room and slammed the door in frustration.
I fit the pass back together like a puzzle and taped it as neatly as possible. I removed a picture from its frame and replaced it with the tattered yellow pass. The signature was barely legible anymore but that did not matter; it was the only thing my father had given me.
I awoke the next morning to a shrieking alarm. The sound jostled me from my peaceful dream world. I dreaded the day that lie ahead, and the fear of rejection overwhelmed me. I forced myself to keep moving. I looked at my horrid reflection in the mirror. My hair was matted on one side and I had an indented red flower design running up my cheek that was identical to my picture frame. My eyes were haunting like red branches cutting through a sea of white. I tore away with disgust and got ready for the day.
I looked at my phone and discovered 4 new text messages along with 7 missed calls. A few were from Taylor, Chad, and Kelsi asking why I left class but the majority was from Troy. He had said how worried he was and asked me to respond as soon as possible. His concern made me feel better and somehow special. I got chills just thinking about how I had been on Troy's mind. I wanted to call him and tell him everything. I wanted him to hold me and whisper in my ear. But I knew that couldn't happen. I had to be strong and independent. I texted him back saying, "Thank you for worrying but I can't talk right now. Things are going to be okay, there is just something that I have to do and I need to do it on my own."
I arrived at school and stared at the rusted green doors, unable to open them. I took a deep breath of the bone chilling winter air and grabbed the familiar handle.
The halls were empty and the isolation added to my dismay. I reached his classroom, and a new level of anxiety surged within me. I saw my father sitting at his desk with a pen in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. I stepped inside and knocked on the doorway to get his attention. "Ah, Gabriella, I'm surprised to see you being that you so kindly bailed on me yesterday. I wasn't sure if you were ever going to return." He quipped with apparent attitude.
"I apologize for leaving, but I had reason to do so and I would like to explain." I quavered, failing to sound confident.
He gestured with his hand and stated, "The floor is all yours."
I asked him if he knew who Carmen Montez was and he only nodded. "Well," I continued, "She is my mother. She is thirty-seven years old; I am currently sixteen years old. You dated my mom in college. Since you are a math teacher I'm sure you can solve the equation."
He sat in shock as I patiently waited for him to break out of his trance. He massaged his temples then rubbed his chin. He looked me deep into my eyes and questioned, "Are you my daughter?"
I nodded as I felt the wetness on my cheeks. I rubbed frantically, but the rivers would not stop flowing. I tried to cover my emotions as a warm hand gently touched my shoulder.