The city of Seattle was finally beginning to come alive. It made sense that nothing would be happening in the early hours of the day anyhow. All the party people with hangovers would still be in bed. I briefly wondered how Max was doing. Hopefully, she would be ok. She couldn't die on me now.

As I rode down the streets at a fairly modest pace due to the fact that I had to ride behind pokey traffic, I realized that I needed to start looking for a job. Mom was probably going to start working at the clothing store with Cindy so that would help to pay the bills. Of course, Dad wouldn't stick around long enough for a job.

Neither Mom nor I knew the real reason behind his staying for fifteen years. I assumed that he felt guilty about what had happened-i.e. me. And, after having a little infant like me, Mom just couldn't go back to work and leave me alone. So, perhaps that was why Dad stayed; he could help support Mom financially and try to make up for what he did.

Of course, we all knew that it wasn't really his fault that I was created. It wasn't Mom's either. It was Donald Lydecker's. But, he was dead and couldn't be punished for what he had done. I, of all of the people in my family, had wanted to show him. Show him what his little experiment had created. If I ever saw him again, I would walk right up to him and start screaming. Screaming that I was a freak on legs, that my life was horribly screwed up from my stupid seizures to the cat hair, with everything in between, that my parents never wanted a kid together, and that he had basically dropped a whole lot of shit in the wrong spot. Then, after I got done screaming, I'd probably punch him in the nose and let him bleed to death.

Ok, so that would never happen, but there were the days when my genetics got to me so badly that I wished he was still alive.

Mom and Dad had never had the best couple relationship. It wasn't that they outright hated each other, because they didn't. But they didn't love one another like a mother and father should. I only saw my parents kiss twice. The first time was when I was ten, and Mom had a miscarriage from one of her "heat flings". She was crying terribly with blood on the floor all around her, and Dad was doing his best to comfort her, (which, in truth, wasn't a whole lot). So, he kissed her on the cheek and whispered some supporting words to her and that was that.

The second time was when Dad decided to walk out after fifteen years. By this time, my relationship with him was mostly developed into that of, "if you don't bother me, I won't bother you, and we'll get along just fine". Anyhow, he told Mom that he had to leave, but she didn't entirely understand why. Maybe her intellectual head did, but her heart certainly couldn't. But, just before he left, they gave each other a real, true, kiss, and he disappeared.

Personally, I don't think Mom has ever forgiven him for leaving like he did. When you spend a decade and a half with somebody, you usually don't bail "just like that". But, Dad did.

As I turned a corner behind a slow moving sedan, I caught out the corner of my eye, two men and a lady walking down the street. They were loaded down with shopping bags and moving with swift, lengthy gestures, attempting to contain all the power their bodies held.

I pulled out of traffic to the sidewalk where they were. "Hey," I called as they approached me.

They ceased their chatting and noticed the girl on the motorcycle for the first time. Syl and Krit both smiled, while Dad asked, somewhat confused as to why I would be right there suddenly, "'Lanzie?"