Causing The Rise And Fall

The Night of it All

I wake up at 6:45 on the dot. I put a fake smile to my face because it is Friday. I walk down the wooden staircase to see Dad cooking eggs in a metal skillet. The marble countertops hold plates of bacon and pancakes. "Good mornin' Willie," Dad said. "Good Morning" I say with a mouthful of bacon. Dad is finishing up putting the eggs on a plate when I grab my plate and put on two pancakes, an egg, and a piece of bacon. I drizzle on syrup and eat until it's 6:55. "Thanks Dad," I give him a kiss on the cheek and head back upstairs.

My room was a teal color with a splash of purple here and there. I look in Mom's old mirror to see brown- I call it muskrat brown- hair tangled, matted, and dirty from sleeping. I head to my bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. I remember my hair situation and I go and clean it in the sink. I pick up my orange blow dryer and dry it. I look in the mirror again this time at just my face. There is no helping myself here. I see ugly dull blue and gray eyes. I can see flecks of black and white located in the blue and gray. A nose that has a tiny rigde but is really big at the end, rounded and not to a point. I see, actually can't see my eyebrows. My hair is frizzy and just plain ugly. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm ugly.

I throw on a white and pink sweater shirt thing and a pair of dark skinny jeans. Along with a pair of red Converse. Fashion doesn't concern me. Well, my appearance overall doesn't concern me.

I grab my bookbag and look at my clock. 7:15. I head down the stairs once again, only to see Dad crying. The last time I saw him cry was 7 years ago. "Dad?" I drop everything and speed walk towards him. What's wrong with him? I wrap my arms around him. He is not crying like he did 7 years ago. He doesn't have one tear falling at a time reflecting my innocent face. He isn't silent. He isn't secretly smiling. He isn't crying. He is having an emotional breakdown it seems. He is on the ground holding his face. He is screaming, kicking, crying, even snotting on himself. I am in horror watching my own father acting so, so, so childish. But I don't know his reasoning, therefore I can't call him that. But still... "Dad! What's wrong?" I am wrapped around him. His tears collecting in my hand. He is trying to stop, but to no avail. I am confused. Confused doesn't even work with the situation. More like extreme shock.

He is trying to speak but tears just keep falling. It is almost like it's not happening. We're supposed to be in Dad's Jeep heading to the torture chamber for 6 hours. He is supposed to be dressed ready for his job. You know, the thing that puts food on the table. He works for a local library.

"Willie," is all that he can say. He looks at me with his emerald green eyes. My eyes are the only thing I got from Mom. "Willie," He looks as confused as me. "But...but you're supposed to be dead?" I look at him in disgust. "What?!" I shout. "Was it a dream?" He whispers. I just shake my head. "So...you're not...dead?" "What dream did you have Dad?" He was about to answer as his eyes roll back into his head.

I run, not to the phone, put to get a glass of water. I grab a glass cup and and run it under the faucet. After it fills I run to Dad, spilling a lot along the way. But I don't think a wet carpet matters at the moment. I splash the H2O into Dad's face. His eyes open. He is no longer screaming, kicking, or any of that fun stuff. He is quiet. Almost too quiet. I check his chest and it is still silently rising and falling. I give a sigh of relief. I put a blanket in him because he is cold to the touch.

After 6 hours or so of unconsciousness, and panic, Dad wakes up. "You're not dead?" He looks at me. "Dad. I'm still here. Tell me your dream." I didn't want to go to school today anyway. "If you want me to." Dad replied.

"It started here, in the kitchen. I was cooking. It just seemed so real. Anyway, you walked in. You sat down. God what happened next? Um, let's see. Oh yeah. You started talking about how much you hate your life. You talked with disgust about every little detail. Even about me." I stopped him. "Wait, you believed that I hated you?" Dad just shook his head. "You were angry with the world. Shouting, screaming, the language you used," he began to shake his head. "You got so mad and aware with everything, you used your power."