Encontrando Papá
(Meeting Daddy)
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It's always nerve-racking meeting your girlfriend's father for the first time.
It's worse if you're dating Gabriella Montez.
Troyella
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ONESHOT
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Gabriella's Point of View
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My dad fell. He fell from a tree when he was six years old, when he and his brother thought it'd be cool to build a treehouse. He fell to the ground, and his skull cracked on the tree's obtrusive root. I've only heard this story told one time, because nobody likes to talk about it. My father wasn't the one who told me; it was my uncle. The one who was left in the tree when Daddy fell. My father wasn't the one to tell me, because he couldn't.
I may have only heard the tale of my father's tragedy once, but believe me, I've told it too many times. Every time my mother's job is transferred, there are new people -- people who can't understand a forty-eight-year-old man with the mental capacity of a six-year-old. And every time I've been forced to explain about the tree and its penetrating root, the same expression comes over the listener's face. It's one of pity at first, as they imagine a six-year-old boy, climbing an apple tree in his overalls, building a treehouse with his older brother, then falling into a state of brain-death. Then it's bewilderment, as they try to feel what it was like growing up in the years afterward, never understanding your surroundings. Then it's disgust, when they think of my mother and the fact that she had an illegitimate child with a retarded man.
My dad lives in the basement. My mother keeps him down there to hide the embarrassment he is to her. She's never loved him. Sure, she feels sorry for him -- anyone would. But she's never married him, and although they have a child together, she's never felt the slightest obligation to make things right between the two of them.
Every time I ask my mother why she felt an urge to screw a six-year-old man, she brushes it off as a "teenage mistake." That's what my cousin Jill refers to me as. The Teenage Mistake. She's joking, of course. She's the only one I would ever allow to joke about it. For one thing, she's been one of the few people in my life that's known the whole story ever since I moved here, to Albuquerque.
But now that has changed… because I've now done the bravest, boldest, stupidest thing I can dream of. I wrote a speech about my dad.
"…All of this said, I hope you understand why I consider my father as the greatest influence on who I am today," I finished.
Behind me, I heard someone mutter something unworthy of being repeated. I turned to the speaker, whom I assumed to be Sharpay Evans, and gave her the sweetest smile I could muster. I then walked across the stage, accepting my diploma from Principal Matsui, and he turned the tassel on my cap to the opposite site. Mrs. Darbus came forth and placed the valedictorian sash around my robe. As I walked back to the risers where the graduating class was seated, I flashed the crowd a grateful smile while they broke into applause.
I sat in my seat next to Troy, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, kissing the top of my head. I smiled up at him, and his eyes were sad.
"What's wrong?" I whispered.
"You're beautiful," he said. "Inside and out." My heart swelled with the tears I was forcing to stay inside of me.
"I love you," I told him. He kissed my head again and whispered in my ear.
"Can I meet him sometime?" he asked.
"Huh?"
"Can I meet you dad sometime?"
"No," I replied.
"How come?"
"Oh look, the ceremony's ended," I said quickly as graduates filed off the stage from their respective seats.
"I want to talk about it," he prodded. As I walked off the stage, following Martha, who'd been sitting on my other side, I sighed and turned to face my boyfriend of two years.
"Not right now."
"Will he be at the party?" he asked, following me out the auditorium doors.
"Who?"
"Your dad. Will he be at your party this afternoon?"
"No."
"It's at your house," Troy commented.
"I know where it is Troy, and I know where my dad will be!" I exclaimed, drawing some attention from the people surrounding us. "My father has not been upstairs since we moved here, and even then it was only the passage from the front door to the basement door. He's never eaten dinner with my mother and I. He's never tucked me into bed and told me a bedtime story. The only reason I can validly call him my dad is because he's in my blood!
"When I go downstairs to visit him, I can hardly understand what he says. Did I mention he can't speak English? He only knows Spanish, which I may have been taught for four years in school, but I wasn't taught the six-year-old version."
"Gabriella!" he interrupted, lifting his arm and wiping my burst of tears with the sleeve of his robe. "I'm sorry. Forget it." He wrapped his arms around me, and I subdued to his warmth. We stood like that, huddled in East High's foyer for what felt like eternity. When my mom tapped my shoulder, telling me it was time to leave, Troy and I separated, and I followed my mother and relatives out the door.
"See you at the party, Gabi!" Troy called after me. I waved my good-bye to him, and I left the school for good.
By the time my mother pulled into our driveway, I had recomposed myself, and I was ready to help set up for the party that was to start in less than two hours. I rushed to the pantry and pulled out the paper cups and plates, setting them up at one of the many card tables Uncle Guillermo had set out for refreshments. I then carefully cut the "Congrats!" cake, and set it on the counter. For another hour, I set up random things until I found myself finished. My mother, who was making a fruit salad in the kitchen, called into me that I had less than fifteen minutes to get myself ready. Still clad in my cap and gown, I hurried up the stairs and to my room, where I stripped down to the dress I'd been wearing underneath, a flowing white strapless cut just above my knees. I strapped on some silvery shoes, and quickly recurled the ends of my hair, applying hairspray to hold it in place. Just as I finished, the doorbell rang, and I rushed back to the foyer to answer it.
I opened the door to find Chad and Taylor, hand in hand. Taylor smiled at me, and Chad held up a box.
"I brought something for the desert table," he announced, obviously proud of his contribution. He handed me the box.
"You brought Twinkies?" I asked, and he nodded. "To a graduation party?"
"Just let it go," Taylor whispered. I nodded and let them step inside the house. Taylor hugged me and said into my ear, "Your speech was beautiful. I really had no idea, though." We broke apart, and I nodded. The doorbell rang again, and Chad, being the closest to the door, let a few more guests in.
Thirty minutes later, a ton of people had filled the house, but I was surprised not to see Troy anywhere. He didn't seem hostile after I refused to introduce him to Daddy. I mean, he had hugged me for like, fifteen minutes. His absence frustrated me, and I suddenly felt claustrophobic with all of the people everywhere. I walked up to Jill, who was talking to Ryan Evans, and asked if she'd seen Troy.
"Yeah. I was the one to let him in the door," she said. I wrinkled my eyebrows in confusion.
"When?"
"Oh, I dunno. Fifteen minutes ago, maybe?"
"Oh… Okay, then I'll keep looking. Maybe he's upstairs or something." I left her, and ran up the stairs, checking every room. And then it occurred to me. And I knew where Troy was.
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Troy's Point of View
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I knocked on the Montez's front door, and a few minutes later I was greeted by Gabriella's cousin Jill. She smiled at me and told me that Gabriella was in the kitchen, speaking with some relatives that had flown in from the Philippines. I nodded and walked through the door, just as I had multiple times, though never with the knowledge that there was someone living underneath the floor I was walking on.
I tried to look casual by walking through the refreshment line and grabbing a soda and a Twinkie. I then kind of hovered around for a while, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. A few people would notice and congratulate me every couple of minutes, but when I was positive no one was looking, I made a beeline for the hallway just off the foyer. I walked to the end of the hall, until I came to the final door -- the basement door. I looked behind me to see if anyone was watching, and when I'd verified that the coast was clear, I swung open the door and snuck inside, closing it behind me as I trampled quietly down the stairs.
When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I suddenly smelled fish or something equally revolting. It didn't look like the place had ever been cleaned, and the filth surrounding me made it all the more surprising when I turned to find a small, thin man with dark hair and tan skin, dressed neatly and cleanly shaven, watching 'Kimba the White Lion' in Spanish on a little television on the opposite side of the room. He heard me come down behind him, and turned to see who was there. Seeing me, he looked confused, obviously unaware of who I was.
"Hola-- no. Hello," he said, seeming confused between the two languages. I smiled gratefully at his effort, and took a cautious step forward. He looked almost worried for a moment, and I tried to explain that it was okay, though I did a pretty terrible job.
I noticed a folding chair off to the side of the room and I walked over to it, carrying it back so I could sit across from the man -- Mr. Montez, I mean.
"Es la silla de Gabriella," he muttered quickly as I sat down.
"Sorry," I said, trying to remember how to say the phrase I was thinking of. "Ummm… No hablo español." I hoped that was right. I was not good at Spanish. Like, at all. "Mist-- I mean, Señor Montez… Me llamo Troy." He seemed to understand that, fortunately.
He gave me a blank look, and I considered my next move. I was tempted to chicken out. After seeing this man, though, he didn't really seem mentally handicapped. Neither of us could understand each other anyways, so mental capacities didn't matter. I figured that the best way to do what I felt I needed to do was to just get it over with… Even if he had no clue what I was telling him.
"Señor Montez, ummm… Hi," I started. I nervously fidgeted my fingers. "First, I just wanna say this is really awkward for me, and I'm sorry that you can't understand what I'm saying. I mean, I don't really know if you understand what I'm saying or not, but… urgh! Can I start over?
"I'm, um… I'm dating your daughter. You know, Gabriella. We've been together for a couple years now. Maybe she's told you about me? Hmm… She never told me about you. But anyway, she-- she was valedictorian for our senior class this year. Did you know we graduated today? Yes, well, she was valedictorian. You should be proud. I know I am, um…
"I really love Gabriella, Señor Montez… And I want to be with her forever and ever and just… know that she'll always be mine. I know that we're both young. Like, really young… But I feel like she's the only one for me. Maybe you don't know that feeling, but it's really great. I can't imagine life anymore without her. And if we're together always, and even if we're not, I'll always love your daughter and make sure that she gets only the best that life has to offer." I was especially nervous for what would come next. I had looked it up on the internet on an English to Spanish dictionary, and I could only hope that I would say it right… and that it wasn't too deep for him to understand.
"Señor Montez… Quiero preguntar Gabriella casarme." His confused, childish expression looked serious suddenly, and I knew he had understood what I said… or at least most of it. I mean, most fathers would react serious like that when a guy says he's ready to ask his daughter to marry him, right?
"I would take care of her, and love her forever, and I'd never in a million years hurt her," I pleaded, still not 100 percent sure he knew what I was talking about. There was a long pause, and we kind of just sat there for like, five minutes. And then he mumbled something in Spanish to me, while nodding his head. What did that even mean, though?
"Yes?" I asked hopefully. " Si?"
"Si," he said in a small voice. I smiled to him, and reached out, shaking his hand.
"Thank you so much, Sir. Gracias, gracias, gracias." He gave me a grin that reminded me of a little kid, and then turned back to focus on the television. I relaxed into the uncomfortable folding chair, and watched with him, not comprehending a single word.
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Gabriella's Point of View
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I quickly ran back downstairs to the main floor before darting down the foyer hallway to the basement door.
"Please don't be down there. Please don't be down there," I chanted to myself in a worried voice as I hurriedly descended the basement stairs. When I reached the floor, the putrid smell hit me, just as it always does. I looked around and immediately saw the last thing I wanted to see at that moment. Troy was watching Spanish cartoons with Daddy, sitting in the folding chair I always used when I visited.
"Troy, Troy, Troy. Oh my goodness. I told you not to come down here. Oh, gosh," I blubbered. "Papá, what did he say to you? Oh gosh." I was going into hysterics. Troy calmly stood up and folded his chair, leaning it against the wall where I had left it last time I was down here. He stood in front of me, kissing me softly on the lips before walking upstairs. I stood there, wondering what exactly was going on.
"Um, see you later, Daddy," I said quietly, walking over to kiss him on the cheek. I turned to go back upstairs.
"Sé algo no sabes," he said before I could leave. I pondered this statement as I walked up the stairs. It's only on certain occasions that I understand my father, but this time I was pretty sure I'd heard him right…
Troy greeted me at the top of the stairs with a kiss.
"Hey babe," he said. I gave him a curious look. "What?" he asked.
"What did you say to him exactly?" I asked. He blushed.
"I can't tell you. It's a secret," he said, teasing. "Why? Did he say something when I left?"
"Yeah… 'Sé algo no sabes,'" I said.
"Okay… and what does that mean, exactly?" he asked.
"Exactly? It means, 'I know something you don't know,'" I translated. Troy chuckled. "What did you tell him?"
"You'll just have to wait and find out," he grinned, knowing it was going to drive me crazy. "But your dad seems like a pretty cool guy."
"Troy, I'll bet you didn't understand a single thing he said to you."
"He said 'Hello.' That counts, right?" he smiled.
"Sure it does," I said sarcastically, and I leaned into kiss him. "You taste like--"
"Twinkies, I know."
I know the bit with Troy and Mr. Montez was cheesy, but I've had this idea for a while, and I finally decided to write it. PLEASE NOTE that I have only taken Spanish class since 7th grade, making it three years. If you are better than I am at Spanish, and I made some kind of garish mistake, please correct me NICELY in a review or PM, and I'll fix it ASAP.
Translations:
x- Es la silla de Gabriella. -- That's Gabriella's chair.
x- No hablo español. -- I don't speak Spanish.
x- Me llamo Troy. -- My name is Troy.
x- Quiero preguntar Gabriella casarme. -- I want to ask Gabriella to marry me.
Please R&R!! Tell me if it was horrible.
x sami