To Mend A Soul

PROLOGUE

Beep Beep Beep Beep

I wouldn't have known I was still alive if it weren't for that blaring thing that blasted my ears. I slammed my alarm off and tried my best to not fall back again to sleep. Not today of all days.

Because today was my dad's wedding day.

Let me give you a little bit of background.

I was born on a beautiful dawn day. The sky as my dad would describe it, was pink, purple and darker hues of yellow. I'd always wonder why it never had even the slightest amount of blue, but my father simply said - 

It was a special day and god decided to let the birth of an angel be known to the world.

A pink sky just for me? Man I must be a lucky one.....or so I thought.

My mom died 5 years later. Car accident. Mama was a very big entrepreneur in Manhattan and was making her way to sign a huge deal to benefit her company. I wish I died down with her. 10th January 2005.

I will always remember the look on my father's face when he tried to tell me about it. It was like his face was porcelain, with a huge crack, ready to break any second. Every breath he took and every word he tried to speak...I felt like we both we're getting stabbed in the chest by invisible forces. I sat down with him in each others arms on the floor of the living room, crying our hearts out. What's worse? We couldn't bury her. Her body was burnt to ashes. Whatever was collected may not have been enough, and it may not have been entirely my mom's body, but it was still something.

We drove all the way to a coast, not known to people or actually given a name. It was unmapped, like a paper town. The waves were beautiful there and I remember playing with Mama and Papa there by the soft sand, just where the water splashed. We'd stay until sunrise, my parents would dance under the stars, we'd have smores over a campfire and sing to some songs while my dad played the guitar. Some of the black tinted rocks had our names written on it....with my set of colorful chalks. I'm surprised it's still there.

My dad and I had a rough beginning after mom's death. All he did all day was go to the office to do god knows what, buy some takeout and bring more beer than he drank in a week. We stopped going down to that secret coast, we stopped having our breakfasts made together, our food was always eaten in silence, he never acknowledged any of my work, and the list goes on. It wasn't until I was 10, the cycle seemed to have broken. My dad was suddenly happy and began taking an interest in me, find out more about who I was. I just thought he changed and moved on but....I was wrong. He found a woman. He started dating, going out, sending me to sleepovers at my neighbour's house for no reason which now that I'm 16, understand why. But I didn't mind them really, Aunt Sloan was the best friend I could ever ask for. She was the only friend I had, and the mother I never really did. We'd narrate stories, do some karaoke, camp in her backyard like it was an actual forest and we'd play in the little tent with made up ghost stories. I loved her dearly. When my dad proposed to Elaine after 5 and a half years, we had to move houses. A house in another town. To say we didn't cry a little before getting on the car would be an understatement. She hugged me so tight that my brave demeanor came crashing down in seconds, like butter on a hot stove.

Remember me always.

Her last words would still echo in my mind every single day, every time my fingers unconsciously traced over the bracelet she gave me. It was the first bracelet we made from a bracelet maker she bought for my 11th birthday. I didn't even remember taking it home, because I never did. She kept it with her. That's why she was so special to me. I was my true self around her.

We moved from Nevada to California, an 8 hour drive filled with my dad's rant about how excited he was for us to move in and for me to meet my step brother and step sister. My step brother was pretty much my age, with only a difference of 9 months. He was in a band which was popular in town. My step-sister on the other hand, was only 8 years old. All I know from her is that she's very smart and very much into art. 

Getting a new sibling, a new mother, a full family, it was all great. But what I've learned from life, was that I could never be truly loved. My dad never found happiness with me, I could never make any friends because I was constantly bullied over the way I dressed and how I was always quiet. I was always quiet because I didn't know what to talk. I didn't know how to have fun. I wasn't much of a talker, but I loved observing. I loved looking at how Britney would braid her hair every alternate day, how Josh would always share his chocolates with everyone and a piece he saved was never for himself, but for his little brother. I loved how Miss Mary from 6th grade never told anyone their art was bad, even if it was Jenkin's ketchup squiggle on a canvas named 'Life of Blood'. I loved how every individual was unique, even if they belonged to the most cliche category in societal minds, because even then they weren't completely perfect. I could never be happy. But I was happy for others.

I could never be loved. But I loved everyone regardless.

But I always remember Mama. She loves me no doubt. She's watching me and looking over me and Papa, blessing our souls and giving me kisses and hugs I couldn't feel over here in this other dimension. I missed her with all my heart.

I acquainted well with the family. I love how my step siblings  and I quickly developed that sibling bond, but they still knew nothing of me. I stayed modest and put on a smile even when I didn't feel like it because I didn't want to make my dad unhappy any more because of me. I said yes to the marriage for that, even though I wasn't completely ready. But I guess I got used to it in a bit. Even though whatever I was getting felt like every orphan's dream, it was like a constantly opening wound for me. I always hided myself from everyone. Most night's I'd silently cry into the night out of this pain I felt in my chest, all the time. I'd get the same nightmare at least once a week and wake up biting into my pillow to muffle the sounds of my screeching sobs. Let's be honest, the noise you make ugly crying isn't the most melodious. Sometimes, I couldn't even breathe. I'd hide from everyone so they can't see how vulnerable I was.

So, this is me. 2 weeks more and this Summer vacation is going to end. I was going to begin a new life, in a new school. Maybe I'll make a friend this year.