ONE

Clary, eight-years-old

Mama was crying. Her sobs were audible from my bedroom where I sat on the floor, shivering with my knees tucked to my chest. Only fifteen minutes ago, we were both finishing lunch when the phone rang. Mama had answered, her face roiling and fading to a unhealthy paleness as the receiver spoke through the line. Just seconds had passed till Mama collapsed in a heap on the floor, a statue with agony etched on her face. The phone had ended up on the tiled floor beside her, the receiver's words a muffled sound. In a flurry of panic and tears I'd snatched the phone up, checking for the caller ID. It read Stephen.

"U-Uncle Stephen," I fumbled over my words as I watched my mother break before me.

"Clary? Clary, sweetheart, where's your Mama? Clare, where is she?" Uncle Stephen's voice was breathless and urgent as he shouted down the line. His outburst did not help my tears.

"Uncle Stephen, Mama's on the floor. I-I can't get her up," I wept, pulling on Mama's arm but to no avail. It was useless.

"Uncle Stephen, I'm scared. What's going on?"

I felt deflated as I sobbed on my knees in front of my Mama who still had not moved from her own bent frame, the only evidence of consciousness coming from the tears that now slid down her cheeks.

"Clary, sweet girl, I need you to be brave for me okay? No more cryin'. I'm gonna be there as fast as I can."

I sniffled, "Okay. Where's Daddy, though? Is he with you too?" My question brought a choking sound from Uncle Stephen down the line, which made my gut clench.

Something was wrong.

"I'll be there soon, sweetheart." And he hung up.

Now, I sat in my room as Uncle Stephen, Uncle Rob and Uncle Michael consoled my Mama. As soon as they'd charged through the front door, I was sent to my room, claiming they'd come and get me in a minute. That was an hour ago.

And through that period my chest had grown tight and my lungs felt like they were going to cave.

Daddy was gone.

Dead.

I couldn't make out a majority of the conversation, but from Uncle Stephen's strained voice I could make out: "found", "not breathing", "bathroom", "bottle-of-jack", "coke", and "I'm sorry". Words an eight-year-old should never perceive.

Uncle Stephen had apparently found Daddy in the bathtub of the rental apartment they had been using in New York for the past 4 months, as they were recording there next album in their studio in Manhattan. Daddy would come home after raps, but sometimes if he'd be at the studio late, he'd stay at the apartment with my Uncles.

Daddy.

I heaved in gulps of breath as tears forced themselves out of my eyes. This couldn't be happening. Daddy was only here this morning, cooking me pancakes for breakfast so Mama could sleep in a few more hours. Like always, Daddy would let me help him make the batter and we would dance to silly pop songs on the radio as our breakfast fried.

And now he was gone. Just like that. Without a goodbye. Just a kiss from this morning as he left for work.

"NO. NO, NO, NO!" I screamed hysterically, throwing my quilt and pillows off the bed, shoving my stationary and odd ends off my desk and banging and slamming myself into the walls. He couldn't be gone.

Daddy wouldn't leave me. He couldn't.

I kept punching my little fists into the wall, slices of pain coursing through my knuckles. I could feel blood seeping into the paint.

But I didn't care.

Daddy would've of swept me into the bathroom, cleaning my wounds and applying my favorite Disney character plasters, kissing the boo boos better.

But not today. Not forever.

Without notice, I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around my body, trying to keep me locked in place as I thrashed in stupor.

"CLARY! CLARY, CALM DOWN NOW! YOU'RE GONNA HURT YOURSELF!" Uncle Stephen's words were distant, as if they were being shouted a mile away. In my blurred vision, I become aware of Uncle Stephen dragging me towards the bathroom, my other Uncles and Mama right behind us, their cries and heavy footsteps barely audible. Cradling me, he places the both of us in the bathtub with me still enveloped within his arms, and I suddenly feel a freezing spray catapulting down my face and bare legs. I heave myself up abruptly, my body completely still but my mouth drawing in cups of breath.

"It's 'kay now, sweetheart. Calm down." Uncle Stephen's voice is a soft murmur, which somehow stops the pulsing in my ears.

In my hazy vision, I see Mama being held up by Uncle Rob and Uncle Michael as she wept, the sobs spurting out of her mouth, wracking her body.

Daddy would of kissed her tears away.

"Guys, get Jocelyn out of here. Take her to the porch, get some fresh air," Uncle Stephen instructed, still supporting me in his arms. With ease, my Uncles shuffled Mama out of the bathroom, soothing mutters coming from both of them in sync.

As soon as they were out of sight Uncle Stephen stood up, keeping me locked in place against his chest.

"Let's get you dry, sweetheart,"

We returned to my room, and Uncle Stephen placed me back on unsteady legs, now shuddering from my wet clothes clinging to my skin. Uncle Stephen swiftly made my bed, picking up the mess of pens and pencils up from the floor and setting them back in their rightful place on my desk.

"What pj's do ya want, huh? How about your Cinderella ones?" Uncle Stephen shifted through my drawers and turned his head for my answer.

I didn't care.

In defeat at my silence, Stephen picked up a pair of pajama bottoms and shirt. The lollipop design would of had me beaming with delight, but my face seemed to be glued in place; couldn't make any exterior emotion.

In fluid motions, Uncle Stephen manages to get rid of my wet clothes, replacing them with my new dry ones. Planting a kiss to my forehead, I'm carried to my bed and tucked securely under the covers.

"Sweetheart. . ." Frown lines between Stephen's brows, making him appear older than his twenty-seven-years. "Clary, do you understand what happened today? Do you understand why-" Stephen's throat constricts, his eyes altering to a misty hue, "Do you know why Daddy isn't here?"

Time seems to mature, but it feels as though I'm stuck here- in a period which brings excruciating pain but I cannot leave. My own personal hell.

"Yes," My eyes stare blankly at the ceiling, "Daddy left me."

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