Quiet. That was all this house has been since that day. Eerie silence will float around the house like a poisonous cloud of gas. Most of the time, I run from it, knowing that if it caught me, I'd spend the day curled up on the window seat watching the clouds roll across the sky as my tears glided down my cheeks like raindrops. But not today. Today was going to be different.
"Mom, I'm going out."
Her head shoots up from her computer screen, her long, wavy tresses billowing about her shoulders, making her look much more together than she really was. "Huh?"
"I'm going out. I'll be back at seven." I repeat, grabbing my black coat and walking out the door.
I wait for the postman to bring me a letter
I wait for the good Lord to make me feel better
And I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders
A family in crisis that only grows older
As I leave the house, I check the mailbox, just in case. But by now I know better than to let myself get my hopes up. Just as I expected, empty.
I continue down the street, patting my pocket to make sure I had my money. Three years of not doing anything social but still getting an allowance adds up really fast. I had over a hundred dollars in my back pocket, and that wasn't even an eighth of what I'd saved up.
I whistle to myself as I make my way out of our suburban neighborhood (they wouldn't call it a neighborhood, otherwise) and into the censored plaza of tiny, useless shops. I walk past these without a second glance, making for the bus stop.
I was right on time. I remember this route exactly. When I was younger I would do this everyday. Hop the 650 bus to downtown and hop it back four hours later.
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
But that was before… It. We didn't talk about it, ever. Mom and I understood each other's pain. And I'm starting to think that it would be a lot less painful if one of us had the courage to talk to the other about when Dad left. The entire system of our home had run on me going to school, mom working from home, and dad going to the office every day. But that fateful day when mom and dad had that awful fight…
Daughter to father, daughter to father
I am broken but I am hoping
Daughter to father, daughter to father
I am crying, a part of me is dying and
These are, these are
The confessions of a broken heart
I watch the other cars zip past the bus, fingering the strip of handkerchief that Dad had managed to forget in the car. I'd been holding onto it for the past two and a half years. It was my only memory of him. All others had been slandered or repressed.
I shook my head. Today was going to be my good day. I wasn't going to let myself sink into self-pity like I'd done so many times before. I was going to persevere. I was going to make it through this day without shedding a single tear.
And I wear all your old clothes, your polo sweater
I dream of another you
The one who would never (never)
Leave me alone to pick up the pieces
A daddy to hold me, that's what I needed!
The bus stopped and I stepped off, my feet moving of their own accord, my mind wandering and taking in the familiar sights and sounds that I realized now that I'd missed so much. My feet led me to the corner bookstore, like I'd done so many times.
So why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
My fingers skimmed the bent spines of all the old, used books in the Adult Science Fiction section, my favorite since I was nine. For the first time in nearly three years, I came close to smiling. My heart filled with hope, that my mother and I could pull ourselves out of our depression, that… maybe… No, that was stupid and childish. I was never going to see him again. He was gone, and I'd just have to deal with that.
My heart told me it'd take a lot more than a resolution to achieve that particular feat.
Daughter to father, daughter to father
I don't know you, but I still want to
Daughter to father, daughter to father
Tell me the truth, did you ever love me
Cause these are, these are
The confessions of a broken heart
I circulated around the store, being greeted by most of the staff and some of the customers. I had been a regular. It felt semi-satisfying that they would remember me, after all these years. I skipped the romance section, and the childrens' sections, but delved in the lushious contentment that I felt flipping through some of my favorite horror stories. King, Koontz, Card, and several others still sat in the heap me and the other regulars had compiled years ago, with a small sign reading, Expert's Pick.
I picked up the last battered copy of Steven King's Rose Red, and sat in the red leather chair in the corner of the shop, worn and tattered from many years good use. The familiar words comforted me in a way I hadn't known possible.
Nineteen and a half chapters in, I glanced at the clock. 5:53 blinked up at me. I quickly stood up and began gathering books to buy. Five books and seventeen minutes later I placed myself in the checkout line.
"Fourty dollars and seventy-six cents, Miss." The guy at the counter told me curtly. I counted out the cash onto the table and he put the books in a bag, before handing me my change. I placed the coins in the tips jar and left without saying a word.
On my way out, the door swung open, pushing me back harshly. "Oh, I'm sorry, young lady. Are you all…" The man stopped suddenly, his jaw hanging a bit. I looked into his eyes and recognized him for who he was. I glared viciously and stalked out of the store, hoping he'd get the idea to stay away. My father stood there, speechless, as I stormed down the street.
I love you,
I love you
I love you
I...!
I love you!
I may love him to my deathbed, but I could never, not in ten million years, forgive him for what he'd done to our family. No, my family. He wasn't a part of it anymore. He had caused too much damage for that to be possible.
Daughter to father, daughter to father
I don't know you, but I still want to
Daughter to father, daughter to father
Tell me the truth...
Did you ever love me?
Did you ever love me?
These are...
The confessions...of a broken heart
Later that night, there was a knock on our door. Thankfully, mom was asleep, so I answered it. My father was standing there, wringing his hands and looking shamefully at the ground. I stood there, waiting for him to say something. He scuffed his foot and looked at me hopefully.
"any chance that you can forgive me?"
I stared at him, careful to keep all emotion off my face, but I couldn't help my voice cracking as I said, "No, Richard. None at all." I slammed the door in his face.
Ohhh... yeah
I turned my back on the door and attempted to walk away, but my knees gave out and I slid down the wooden face, tears streaking down my cheeks. I sobbed uncontrollably for the next hour or so, then got up to make myself hot chocolate.
I wait for the postman to bring me a letter…
Only three more weeks until Hogwarts, until I can get out of this hell and use Ron and Harry to erase my fears and aches and pains for a while.