Have you ever been lying in your bed staring at the emptiness of the dark room and thinking when the hell all that things that you believed in crushed into million pieces? My Dad always taught me to hold his hand and look into the eye of the future without a fear or a doubt. He believed that we were responsible for everything that we had done, for what we thought or spoke about, so it was only natural that we all we paid back as we deserved it, and only we were able to change our future by making the right choice. I think he was a believer. And he had a nice grip of my hand when I was about to fall.

Always. Physically. Mentally.

He was my small island of hope, justice and acceptance in this bulky world of fear. When I was four he held me in his arms while I was crying over the beautiful small sandcastle that was destroyed by a bunch of guys and their football, oblivious to the fact that tides would have destroyed it anyways. I held my small hands around his neck while my pretty little castle was in shambles and my Dad was humming the lullaby that my Mom used to sing me before my sleep. He was the one to hold my first bicycle when I was scared to death, crying out loud and closing my wet eyes with my fists. My Dad took me to the day-long ice-cream shopping spree when Mom left for another guy when I was 9. It was he who took care of my scratched knees and bruised legs when a group of "popular" as ass girls made fun of me after our classes were over. Ten year olds are not willing to except the fact that the boy they liked shared his marshmallows with lanky and clumsy girl that I was. When I was 11 he held my hand tightly as my weak as mush legs were not willing to lead me to the rollercoaster. He held me during the ride and let my hand go only when I was crying of excitement and my fear long gone. He put the gun on the wall as a trophy when I was 13 and was in my first relationship with a nice but rather timid guy from my English class. He was not able to hold my hand on public any more as it was not what most of teenagers appreciated , but he showed that he still had a total control over my life and would tear off the poor boy's head if he would touch me in any way that dad considered inappropriate. He held me in his hands when I was unable to make my way to my room after my first booze party at the age of 15. Playing with my hair and humming "all the pretty little horses" he was letting me go to the life that I wanted but treated me as a little naïve and crying at the site of lost puppy girl that I was all around him. He rocked me in his hands when Grandma died and brought me oranges when I broke my leg. He always was there with me. He was my concrete, my crying shoulder my best friend and my defender. He never let go off my hand when I needed him. He never let me down. He was the one to cover me with his body, saving my life, when that bloody car crashed into his cruiser. He was the one in coma for 3 days while I held his hand day and night, sobbing as I sang our lullaby that seemed to be a string from defeated me to lifeless him. And yet I had nothing to do to ease his pain. All I had was his stirless body, constant beeping, peeping nurses and his hand in mine. He still had a grip on my life when his own was on the edge, not leaving me, not letting me go, holding out for me.

I was the one to let go off his hand when the beeping died away and he was covered with that awfully white cloth. I didn't sing anymore as that string was broken. He was a believer but that was not what he deserved. I was in his hospital room till he was taken away, as if staying there prolonged that dreadful moment of coming back to my now empty home, knowing that he would never kiss my temple again and wouldn't ground me for missing classes, he would never burn our breakfast in micro and would never again hold my hand in his paw.

I didn't realize that I was crying again mopping my tears with a sleeve of my hoodie. I was still in my small lilac bedroom on the second story of our little house. Everything now seemed to be little and unimportant just like that particle of dust that was now flying behind my eyes in the air. Have you ever been interested in where the dust comes from and where in goes to? That was a really absorbing question filled with sense and importance. People like dust come from nowhere and go to nowhere all alone, nobody asks them if they are willing or ready to go, they just disappear leaving some ashes of memory in the minds of the ones that loved them.

I lost this particle of dust when I blinked to shed more tears and man up to get up from bed. It was time. Mom who came as soon as she heard about the car crash was busy downstairs preparing breakfast though she knew that I won't touch it. I went to bathroom where I showered and brushed my teeth, comb my hear and ended looking at myself in the mirror. To tell that I was a wreck would be an understatement of the century. I had high cheekbones and sunken cheeks, my bloodshot eyes were decorated with bags under them, my lips chapped and my chestnut hair looked more like a crow's nest but I didn't give a fuck. That all was so trivial and I even wanted to hurt myself more just to feel something... just anything. I was tired of being numb.

"Honey, are you alright there?", Mom's voice was calm and very tired, just like she was. I haven't seen her crying since she came here. I wasn't actually blaming her for abandoning my father years ago, but I hoped to see a little bit more of her feelings to know that my soul was not the one that was tore apart. Though I barely remember her crying at all. She was a keeper of her feelings, of good ones and bad ones. Sometimes I thought that her harboring them won't bring any good and she would wear herself our sooner than she would even be 50. She had already had some little wrinkles near her eyes and mouth and on her forehead, and I even caught her on pulling out some silver hairs.

"Yeah. I think so. When are we to leave?", I asked as I was trying to fight with my hear and to coax them into a messy ponytail, though they apparently had a mind of their own.

She mumbled something about an hour but I was not really paying her any attention. I blocked out prolonging my own torture of misery. We had a hard long day waiting for us and for a moment it seemed that staying in that cramped bathroom would save me from accepting the truth once again. I even had a flash of a thought to really stay here in a hot tub to rub away that emptiness inside of me, but I knew that I would never forgive myself if I wouldn't see his face again, wouldn't make a mental picture or just let him be a part of my life once more.

-"Honey, I want you to talk to you. Please open the door. I'll meet you downstairs"

I really didn't want to see anybody then but I had no other choice. I left bathroom without looking at the door leading to the masters room. She was waiting for me in the living room just as she promised. She pulled me to herself and hugged me as I landed on the sofa near her. I wasn't going to cry once again but couldn't help as my tears were rolling down my face. She was the one to speak:

-"I love you, baby. And I hope you know it."

"Sure, Mom. I just miss Charlie very much… It seems to me that he'll open the door shouting that it all was a joke, or a bad dream or that I had gone completely crazy locked in my own brain. I would except that with pleasure. I just wish he was alive". I blubbered stroking her arm, rocking her body with my own.

"I know baby, I know. I wish as much as you do that it all wasn't real. But it is, and we can't help it. But we still can remember him as a loving Dad and a charming man with golden heart that he was." She gave me a small kiss on my neck and I shivered a little. She was not the one to show her affection. "I know it's not the best timing but we have to discuss it. Me and your father have been very concerned of your future. You need to go to college and you know that. Charlie suggested your going to Chicago. He knew it was your dream and we were putting every penny for your education. He called me two weeks before, he was so proud he was able to pay for your tuition and he even found a big friend of his from his student years whose family now leaves there. He said they are charming and didn't mind your leaving with them. Though I personally think that they have some kind of money compensation but Charlie would never admit to that."

She stopped at that moment leaving me absolutely bewildered. She was offering me my dream, but I was to leave my home to fulfill it. I was to say goodbye to everything that was so dear to me, that I knew from my childhood and everything that reminded me of Dad. I knew I was not ready and I would never be to leave everything behind but I had to, and that was a fact. I had no one left here to support me or to interest me, or to leave here at all. I knew Renee wasn't offering me to live with her, and deep in my heart I didn't want her to. She had a new family of her own and I didn't want to… I just didn't want to be around her new husband. I knew he wasn't a bad guy or anything.. I just wasn't ready to go there, see them every day and pretend that everything was alright. And Charlie wanted it.

"I know you have to think about.. It's a big decision, but you.." she wasn't able to finish as I interrupted her.

"Yeah.. I have to think about it. Give me a couple of hours"

"Sure, hon. Take your time" She kissed me once more before we heard a car pulling up our yard. I knew that The Blacks were to take us to the church and cemetery, but I haven't realized that the time was running up that fast.

I barely remember all the people in the church, all the flowers and prays that were heard. It was all in a blur. I wasn't crying as my best friend and my first boyfriend Jake held my hand and I was leaning on his shoulder begging once again that it all was a surreal dream. I can barely remember the grave and the coffin and the last words. But I do remember the photo of Charlie that now rested on the cemetery. He had big brown eyes that I inherited and a huge grin all over his face. That was a perfect picture of my Daddy, a person who gave me life, my wonderful childhood, he gave me his love and now was offering a key to my future. And I didn't want to miss a chance to have it, hoping that he would be proud of me whenever he was.

I was determined to tell her as soon as we get back home. We were sitting in the kitchen drinking chamomile tea. That was his favorite.

"I've decided. I'm going, Mom."

"He would've been very proud of you, baby. And I really am."

"I know. I feel that it was what he wanted.. and what I wanted, and what I need.. I guess. I don't know. That family.. Have I ever heard of them?"

" Oh, I don't know. They've already moved to Chicago when I met your father, so I've only heard lot's of stories about the head of the family myself. But Charlie had great expectations of him, he's a doctor. As far as I remember his name was Cullen."

"Cullen" I repeated. "So this is it than. I'm going to Chicago"