My Daddy doesn't love me.

Whenever he comes visit Mama, he never even looks at me. I always put on my best dress and brush my hair, just for him. I even wear my Mary-Janes! And he still doesn't care.

I remember one time he brought a girl with him. She was wearing the shortest skirt I'd ever seen and a real tight shirt that pushed up her boobies. They were all hanging out, for everybody to see!

Mama was mad. She came running out the house, yelling something awful. Daddy just grinned and wrapped his arm around the girl's waist. She giggled and rubbed against his side. I closed my eyes and turned around so I couldn't see.

I heard Mama screaming at him. She said something about me, and I turned around. Daddy looked mad. He grabbed Mama's arm and jerked her against him. He whispered something in her ear and then pushed her away, hard. She was crying! She ran after him, grabbing his arm. He pulled away from her and got in the car. The girl leaned over and kissed him, and he kissed back. Mama stood there, her head facing the ground. I walked over and put my arm around her. She wrapped her arms around me and buried her face in my hair. I felt tears on my face, and I reached up to pat Mama's back. Then I realized they were mine.

That was the first time Daddy made me cry.

I was waiting in the driveway that day. I had made him a Father's Day card at school and I wanted to give it to him now, even though Father's Day was in a couple of weeks. I was so excited. I imagined him picking me up and swinging me around like Patty's daddy did to her. I knew he would love me when he saw it; I had worked extra hard to color inside the lines.

I waited until it was dark and Mama made me go inside. After she went to bed, I snuck out and sat on the tailgate of the truck, swinging my legs and watching carefully for Daddy's car.

He's just late, I told myself. He'll be here soon.

I waited until my Cinderella watch said three o'clock. I went in the house and slowly, methodically, ripped the card into tiny pieces. I threw them on the ground and stomped on them, then gathered them up and flushed them down the toilet.

I eventually stopped going outside to meet Daddy when he visited. I would put on my oldest pair of sweatpants and a holey t-shirt and curl up under the covers until he left.

One time he stopped in front of my door. I was sure he was going to come in and ask me why I didn't wait outside anymore, but he kept going. My eyes filled with tears in spite of myself, and I sat down on the floor, hugging my knees.

He stopped again, but I didn't even look up. I knew he wasn't going to do anything. I kept my head buried in my knees until he left.

Daddy's friend Johnny came visit Mama. She made me go in my room, but I could still hear.

"Dally's gone. We don't know where he went," Johnny said.

"Good. Kayla is better off without him anyway," Mama said.

After that, I stopped listening. I put on an old Elvis record of my mother's and his under the covers.

I never saw him again.