"Daxter, hurry up!" Father yelled up the stairs and I pulled my dress over my head, the tights over my legs, and the shoes onto my feet. I brushed back my hair into a ponytail and added the little flower clip my mother gave me on my fourth birthday.
"Daxter!"
"Coming!" I yelled on back.
I bounded down the stairs and passed the shelves of pictures. Five of them were of Mommy before she died. A few of her and daddy together. In the dusty little corner there was a picture of a man I vaguely recognized. I paused to stare at that little corner picture like I always do, every morning.
Dad appeared at the bottom of the stairs holding a wrapped box. It was blue, with white ribbons. He handed it to me roughly.
He's acting strangely, I know it. It's my birthday, my sixth birthday, and he seems agitated. He shouldn't be agitated. I set the present on the shelf and he held out a hand.
"Come on, morning walk time."
!~~~~!
"Daddy! You're hurting me"! I tried pulling my hand from his. We rounded the corner and passed the department stores.
"Stop trying to ruin your birthday, hunny." He said through gritted teeth.
"Daddy..."
"Stop calling me that." He turned towards me and squatted down so we were eye to eye. He glared at me with angry eyes. I looked into them deeply. They held so much pain, he had lost so much, so many people... So many adventures those eyes held. They were once so happy, I could tell.
He stood back up, staggering a bit. He glanced towards the streets, morning traffic began.
"Do you want some chips?" He asked, still looking at the crowded roads.
"Yeah!" I smiled, glad his hand lost it's painful grip.
Dad fished out far too many bills from his pocket and handed them to me, looking dazed. He pointed out a chips stall in the park.
"Dax, could you go get us some? I'll wait by here."
"Okay!" I said, smiling. He seemed to be far less angry now. As I started to hop away, I looked back, seeing my dad staring at the streets. This wasn't normal, for him to be this out of it, but it wasn't normal for him to be angry at me either.
I got into the short line for the chips vendor, just watching my dad. I glanced forward as the line shortened, and with one person before me I looked back once more. There he was, stumbling into the street and turning toward the oncoming truck. He opened his arms as if to hug the hunk of moving metal, and he was suddenly on the ground. I collapsed to the dirt, trying to run to him. People were gathering around now, wondering what had happened. I struggled to get off the ground, wanting so badly to go and help him up as well. Every time I would trip, he or mommy would help me up. It was now my turn, and it was impossible for me to get to him through the crowd. People took out their phones, not glancing at me as I tried to get to him. One man saw me and covered my eyes, asking where my mommy and daddy were. I pointed to my dad on the ground, and his eyes started to water, his mouth opening as if to say something, then shut his eyes and put his head on mine, tears rolling into my hair and onto the small clip that was all I had from my mom.
Across the street, the tall man in the blue suit and black tie couldn't see the victim of the crash. But he knew who it was, she had told him specifically. He hung down his head and walked away.
!~~~!
The men in the blue gear, they kindly helped me into their car. They told me it was alright, dad was just fine. They swore, even the kind man protecting me from the scene swore he was alright. I could tell they were lying.
Nobody could stop lying the entire way there. When they put me in a room, I saw through their mirrors. They designed them so nobody could, but I could see the men in the dark coats. Just looking at them I could learn their names. They didn't matter, they were just men, they were just names. No, not just. They were goverment men.
They talked about my parents. Every time they said the names though, it blurred. The names were clear but once said they seemed so alien.
There was a book shelf on the side of the room. I walked over to it, glancing at the thick covers and the strange names. They would be simple for someone to read, but I could read only few. I grabbed one and walked back to the plain metal fold up chair. The policemen still talked to the black coat men, I could see them wave their arms about, I could hear them talk. But I tuned them out and flipped the book to the first page.
I read three more that day. Then the social worker came and took me away.
