UNK

The first chapter is to introduce several characters and show the relationship between me and my Dad. It also gives a glimpse into the first time we started to notice that something was terribly wrong

Gone Dad 

 

To really understand my story, we must go all the way back to the year 1993. A time when things were simple and happy. A time before I knew better. My mom, Cheryl, my dad, Robert, my big brother, Anthony, and I lived in a quiet little farm town, in a charming house, on a pleasant street. Some of my earliest memories are playing with Anthony on the swing set while singing the Cooks Pest Control theme song, chasing the icy man with quarters in hand and getting one pump of every flavor. There was an abundance of WWE on the TV and plenty of firefly catching. My favorite memory was sitting in Daddy’s lap with a bag of baby carrots, dipping them in to salt he poured in the palm of his hand while we watched old Westerns. He was my buddy, and I was his. 

 

 I remember how I would refuse to go to sleep until Daddy tucked me in at night, no matter how long it took. At bedtime I would just lie there, brown eyes wide, making pictures on the popcorn ceiling the same way you would with clouds as the light from the streetlamp poured into my bedroom window. After finding as many rabbits, stars, and angels as I could in the chaotic popcorn design, Daddy would finally walk into my room. We had our own special saying we would share together before I fell asleep. 

 

“What are you?”, he would ask as he kissed my forehead. 

 

I smiled excitedly and replied, “I’m Daddy’s little girl.” 

 

Daddy was a policeman, an Army Veteran, and a real-life hero in my eyes. He was almost thirty years my mom’s senior, but that never bothered me. It only seemed to aggravate him when someone mistook me for his granddaughter, which was often. My oldest brother, Kayden, from Dad’s first marriage, was already grown and moved out by the time I came along. Daddy was tall and thin, with gray hair around the sides of his head. He always wore black cowboy boots, polished to shine like mirrors, straight leg denim pants, and plaid button-down shirts. He was as handsome as he was southern. If Daddy wasn’t at work, or glued to TV Land, he was in his garden tending to his vegetables or standing over the stove stirring a pot of turnip greens as the smell of corn bread in the oven graced the kitchen air. At the time, our hometown was a Mayberry kind of place. Everyone knew everyone and there wasn’t a soul alive that didn’t love Dad. He was Andy Giffith in this town and that was just fine by me. 

 We moved two times over the next few years. In 1997, we had bought a nice, three-bedroom trailer and put it on my grandparents' property on the other side of an old corn field. We had left the valley behind and settled into life on the mountain. The trailer was nice and tidy except for the smoke rings floating through the air from Daddy’s cigarettes. 

 

“It’s not the cigarettes that kill you,” he would smile and say as he flicked a long ash into his green, glass ashtray, “it’s the filters.” 

 

 From what I could see, he and my mom looked happy. If they ever fought, Anthony and I didn’t know it. I remember being seven years old and seeing them dancing in the kitchen while potatoes were frying on the stove. Mom’s baby bump containing the life of our new sibling was just starting to show. Mom was much shorter than Dad, she still had glowing skin, and a fresh perm in her auburn hair. Her nails were always long and painted red with large rings on several fingers. I always thought she was so beautiful and elegant.  

 

Yes, we had it all. 

 

Until we didn’t. 

 

I was a cheerleader for the town’s Little League team while my brother, Anthony, played football for them. Anthony was tall and thin, like Dad, with fair skin and thick round glasses. One night, after Anthony’s game, Mom took us out for pizza. We had done this several times in the past, so everything seemed normal. That was about to change. 

 

Suddenly, when we barely had time to finish eating, Mom rushed us to the car. 

 

“Hurry up, kids! Get in the car now!” 

 

“What’s wrong, Mommy?”, I asked, wiping pizza sauce and ketchup from my face. 

 

“We need to get home to Dad, now let’s go!” 

 

We didn’t know what was happening, but the urgency in her voice prompted us to listen and not ask questions. 

 

We buckled ourselves in, but she had started pulling out of the lot before we were done. She sped up the mountain to our home in a frenzy. She didn’t speak another word, but she looked horrified and pale. Anthony and I remained silent and confused in the backseat as she clutched the steering wheel. I was watching her eyes bolt around from the rear-view mirror, going back and forth examining the empty, dark roads. When we got home, she prompted us to run inside as she sprinted to her room and slammed the door. A moment later, Daddy ran out pulling his jeans over his tighty whities, his police gun in hand, and went out the side door as if he was looking for something, or someone. Anthony and I were dumbfounded. 

 

I thought to myself, “What is happening? Is someone trying to break in?” We had thick woods all around the back and side of the house that hunters used to frequent, so the thought wasn’t far-fetched. Still, I said nothing out loud. Instead, I sat patiently with Anthony, still in our uniforms from the game, and we waited. 

 

Mom came out of her room, red-faced and eyes swollen from crying, and told us, for the first time ever, about her first husband, Dan. She explained, briefly, the terrible physical abuse she had endured and that he had recently gotten out of prison after serving time for attempted murder. 

 

“He followed us home from our football game. He found me. The police were supposed to call me when he got out! This is all wrong. He found me. He found me!” 

 

Anthony and I sat there frozen, staring at her. A man had followed us home? This didn’t make sense. 

 

“Why?” Is the only question we could muster. 

 

She sobbed and looked right at me saying, “He saw you and thinks you are pretty. I don’t know what he wants to do! I’m afraid he will try to take you from me!” 

 

I don’t understand. I don’t know this man. Why does he want me? Is that why he came? To take me away from my mom? I knew I needed to comfort her somehow. She was hysterical.  

 

“It’s okay, Mommy. Daddy will shoot him!”, a typical seven-year-old girls' response. Daddy will make the monster go away. 

 

“No one is here.”, Daddy said when he came back inside. “Just keep the doors locked.” 

 

“He was here! I saw him!” She cried. 

 

We never saw her talk to anyone at the game, but she was scared and shaking, so being a small child, I believed her. 

 

That’s the first time in my life I remember being scared. My heart broke for her too. How could someone ever lay a hand on my sweet mom? And why would he be looking for us at all? She had been married to Daddy for almost ten years by then.  

 

Things always felt different for me after that night. There was always a fear of this strange man coming to get us or coming to hurt my mom. I must have stared at every passing car from then on for many years, always looking over my shoulder, while standing close to her side, to spot the man I’d never seen, but who was undoubtedly going to kill us. 

 

Daddy didn’t find anyone at our house that night, or any other night for that matter. As long as he was home, we were safe. He would make sure of that, and I knew it.  

 

Then one night, less than a year later, I was tucked in tight with Anthony in his room. I used to love to tip-toe to him at night and play with Power Ranger action figures under the covers, even though I wasn’t supposed to. Our new baby brother, Cody, was in Mom’s room sound asleep. Daddy came to tuck us in like he always did. He didn’t make any fuss over me being in the wrong bed and let me stay put. 

 

“I’m headed to the store, kids. I’ll be back in a little while.”, he told us as he kissed our heads. “I love you.” 

 

Except this time, when we woke up, he wasn’t there. It seems like he just left us on a whim, but that wasn’t the case. Mom sat Anthony and I down and told us the news.  

 

“Your Dad and I are getting divorced.”, She explained calmly, “He is going to live in a new house in town and you guys will go stay with him there sometimes.” 

 

 “When?”, I asked, very confused, because I didn’t fully understand what divorce meant. 

 

“Every other weekend. You’ll sleep for two nights at Daddy’s house then come back home to me. It will be like a fun sleepover!” 

 

It didn’t sound as exciting as she tried to make it seem. It was a very vague conversation, if you want to call it that, and left me and Anthony with more questions than answers.  

 

“I want Daddy to stay here with us!” I started to make a fuss, but I knew better. Mom wasn’t one to listen to whining, even if it was called for. 

 

“You stop that now. We aren’t doing that. We are fine.” 

 

For an eight-year-old, this was an extremely confusing time. Not only had my new brother, Cody, just been born, and I was adjusting to being a big sister for the first time, but they were happy! We were happy. What circumstance broke our family apart; I couldn’t understand at the time. 

 

I do, however, remember vividly that first night without Daddy tucking me in. I laid in there with The Little Mermaid VHS playing as it all sank in. Daddy wasn’t coming to tuck me in anymore. Now Anthony and I would only be going to see him every other weekend. The majority of the time we were going to be stuck with her, the real monster. Only I didn’t know she was a monster yet. She was still masquerading back then. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. I only knew Daddy wasn’t there. 

 

Tears quietly ran down my face and soaked my new Pocahontas pillowcase as I repeated our saying to myself over and over again. “I’m Daddy’s little girl. I’m Daddy’s little girl.” I would do this for many years to come and tell no one about my new secret ritual. Quiet and alone, with the covers pulled over my head believing they could somehow shield me from the new reality that was on the other side. “I’m Daddy’s little girl.” 

 

After all, that’s who I was. 

 

Wasn’t I?

Author's Note

all grammar corrections are welcome. Please let me know if the story is easy to follow, keeps you engaged, has a good hook, and if any major or minor changes are needed.