Author's Note: Out of curiosity, I looked up the name Elysia, to see if it was actually a real name, or if it was a misspelling of Alicia or something. When I saw the meaning of the name, I felt compelled to write this story. Other inspirations were my own childhood memories of my father. I've also tried to write this as though it was actually a fifteen-year-old talking.
My name is Elysia Angelica Hughes, I'm fifteen years old, and I'm in ninth grade.
I guess the thing that sets me apart from the other girls in my class is that I don't have a dad. There's one girl, named Gloria, whose father left her family when she was like three years old. Sometimes we keep each other company when there's a father-daughter picnic or something. But then other times she sorta looks at me accusingly, as if to say, "Well, your father was just killed. Mine up and left." It makes me feel sad when she looks at me like that, because isn't it just as hard for me? Don't I want to see my dad just as much as she does? I guess the only difference is my dad didn't leave behind such torn-up feelings when he left.
My mom doesn't cry anymore, of course. I mean, it's been all of like eleven years. She's gotten used to being a widow by now. Still, she gets tired a lot, and her hair is starting to get grey around her temples. There was a time when I was wondering if she was maybe gonna get married again. I overheard her talking to Auntie Liza on the phone, saying that she didn't think she could continue on alone. A couple hours after she'd hung up, I asked her if she was gonna remarry.
But she smiled and took me onto her lap (I was still a kid at the time), and said that no, she wasn't. "I don't think I could love anyone like I loved your father," she said. That made me feel better. Even though it's kinda hard sometimes to not have a dad, I think it's better than it would be if some strange guy started living in our house, treating me like his daughter when I wasn't.
I can sort of remember my dad, I think. He was killed several days after my fourth birthday, and we have a ton of pictures of him all over the place to refresh my memories. Mostly what I remember is how he'd always be snapping photos of me; he was always grabbing his camera when he was around me. My mom tells me he was quite infamous for that kind of thing at work, and basically the entire Military Investigations Department knows my name because of all the pictures he'd show them when he worked there.
Stronger memories, though, are ones like how he'd always say, "There's my big girl! Are you my big girl, Elysia?" I would always reply with, "No! Medium-sized!" I didn't want to be called a little girl, but I didn't think I was that big, either, so I decided on something in the middle.
I also remember when I would sit in his lap towards the evening, after he'd come home from work and after we'd eaten dinner. He and Mom would talk about things I didn't understand, and I'd just sit quietly in his lap with my head resting against his warm chest. I can remember that very vividly: the warmth of his body through his shirt, the lingering scent of aftershave or cologne or whatever it was, and his voice vibrating in his chest when he spoke. That vibrating would always put me to sleep, and I would only half wake up when he tucked me into bed.
I remember times when I'd wake up from a nightmare, and he would put me back to sleep. He'd tuck me in, pulling the sheets up nice and snug under my chin, and he'd rub and pat my back with a soothing rhythm, sometimes humming a little tune under his breath. And when he kissed me goodnight, I would smile because his whiskers would tickle my cheek.
I don't tell Gloria these things, because I know she'd feel jealous. She once told me all she remembers of her father was that he was loud. So when she turned and asked me if I remembered my dad at all, I just told her about the pictures and left it at that.
There was this one time in fourth grade, I think it was, where we had to research the meanings of our names and make a poster that said why we were named that, and how we were unique from everybody else. When I looked into the meaning of my name, I discovered that it came from Elysium, a name for heaven. My mom said it was my dad who chose the name. She said he was always talking about how an angel must have come down and blessed them with a baby, so he named me Elysia Angelica. It made me feel happy to know that my dad loved me that much.
I guess sometimes I wish my dad didn't have to die. Sometimes I just want to be normal, you know? If strangers find out I don't have a dad, they always give me this weird pitying look, and I hate it. If anyone hears about Gloria's dad, they sort of frown, as if to say, "Well, it was obviously the family's fault." Gloria defiantly tells anyone who will listen that she doesn't want sympathy. But I can tell that she needs it. I don't need sympathy...but I want it.
My dad was killed one night when he worked overtime, but it wasn't the stress or exhaustion that killed him. He discovered a dangerous secret some corrupt higher-ups in the military were trying to hide. From what I understand, he was trying to covertly tip off his old friend, Roy Mustang, when someone from the military shot him. He died in a phone booth, clutching a picture of our family. Because he was 'killed in the line of duty,' he was promoted from Lieutenant-Colonel to Brigadier General, and given a respectable funeral. I can sort of remember it, I think. There were lots of people dressed in military blue, and I remember Mom crying afterwards. I probably didn't really understand what was happening at the time; after all, I was only four. Sometime during the years that followed, I guess I finally figured out that my dad was never coming home.
We have some pretty good family friends, and I've heard Mom say several times that they were one of the main reasons she continued to get out of bed in the morning that first year. Uncle Roy and Auntie Liza always come by for Sunday dinner and Christmas, or just drop by for a few minutes for tea when they're passing by. Uncle Roy is nothing like a father, though he jokes sometimes that he'll have to be the one my future husband will have to talk to. And Auntie Liza can sometimes be what I suppose you'd call 'motherly,' though she's nothing at all like my mom. They're basically complete opposites, but I like Auntie Liza all the same. She has a really old dog called Black Hayate who's half-blind and likes to be scratched on his belly, so whenever we go to their house I like to play with him.
Scieszka is almost like a big sister to me. She works in the Investigations Department; she was actually hired by my dad before he died, and has stayed on for all this time. She's a crazy bookworm, and whenever we meet she's always going on about some book or other, and gives me a classic or something she's found that she thinks I'd like. By now, she's come to know my tastes in reading almost better than I do; I've never failed to enjoy a book she's given me, and some of those books were ones I'd probably never read if she hadn't recommended them.
And then there's the Elrics. They usually come for Christmas too, or whenever they happen to be in town (they live off in the East somewhere, I think). When the Elrics, the Mustangs, Scieszka, and some of my dad's old friends all get together, it's quite the party. And if what they all tell me is anything close to the truth, my dad would be right in the middle of it all, snapping photos and bragging about his family.
Winry Elric is another person who feels like a big sister to me. She was actually there for my fourth birthday, and kept coming for all my other ones too. I still have the first present she ever gave me: a huge teddy bear, probably about as big as I was when I was four. She always gets me great presents and spends time with me when she comes, just like a big sister should.
If Scieszka and Winry are my big sisters, then Edward and Alphonse Elric are my big brothers. Al always brings one of his many cats with him, and is a great listener if I ever need to just talk. Ed is, if possible, even more special. My mom loves to tell the story of when I was born – how there was a blizzard outside when she went into labor, so my dad had to rush off to bring the doctor. My favorite part of the story, though, is that they were all celebrating Ed's twelfth birthday that night, and Ed helped my mom. Even if he always laughs and says, "Really, I was just panicking most of the time," Mom insists that he was a great comfort. I've always thought it's amazing how our birthdays are on the exact same day; we've celebrated a lot of double birthdays because of that.
With all these great friends and all these comforts, I almost feel as though it's not right of me to complain about not having a father. I know there are a lot of people out there, people like Gloria or the Elric brothers, who are off a lot worse than me about their father. People who can't even remember their fathers, or people whose families were torn apart by their fathers. My experience isn't anything like that, so I have no real reason to complain. I know beyond all doubt that my dad loved me, and I'll always be Papa's medium-sized girl.