STRANIERA

Part 4

My last stop for the day is at the rehab center before I go pack the necessities for my flight tomorrow. This is a stop I really don't want to make, but he's still my father. He was a good man, a good father before Danny died, but he was never himself again. He has never been clean for more than two months max.

The rehab center is a very nice place, but it doesn't pay the bills; it only strains the medical insurance. It has light gray and olive green walls with a purple wall behind the reception. A mini chandelier hangs over the reception, glass walls, and a huge water fountain before the entrance. The whole place itself looks like Wonderland. Every time he must come back, mom must put in extra shifts. When he gets out of rehab, nobody wants to give him a job because he returns to rehab more than six times a year. He stays here for about four months until every trace of drugs is out of his system, and then he pleads that he is good to come home. Time passes, then he goes into Danny's room. Back to square one. Maybe if my mother sold the house and donated Danny's stuff, maybe, just maybe things could change, and Dad can get back to being my dad.

I sneeze about two times while walking just to the front office. This place is in the middle of nowhere, lots of bushes. Now keep in mind I'm moving to a farm, so be prepared that I am going to sneeze a lot; I'm already apologizing to those poor kids. Wrong metaphor. Scratch the word 'poor,' that's mean.

"I'm calling him for you, V," the nurse on the other side of the counter says as I walk through the doors. Like I said, I'm a regular, but the second year we started repeating the same cycle as last year, this will be my first time visiting him this year.

"Thanks, Nina. I'll be waiting for him on the bench next to the regular waterfall." I'll send him, but he has been doing really well— " I stop her right there and respond respectfully, with a small smile, "Nina, no need, he'll be back in a few months, like always." She doesn't say anything, just gives me a weak smile and leaves the counter.

I've been waiting for about less than five minutes admiring the flowers when he approaches me. Brutally honest, he looks like a hobo. His face isn't shaved; he has bags under his eyes, and his face looks over seventy. Yeah right, he's doing 'very' well; nobody looks like that when they are doing 'very' well.

"Hi, mi 'more." He says with a bright smile as he sits down next to me. He leans in for a hug, but I give him the cold shoulder, though I take his hand. "Dad." I give him a weak smile. "Why the heavy eyes?" "Truth be told, Dad, this place is your home, not where Mom and I am.'' I started to cry, no, I started to sob. "Sometimes I wish you could just overdose, and then you can be with Daniel!" He jerks his hand back. I knew I was breaking his heart, but he broke mine a long time ago. His eyes start tearing up, but I wasn't done, "Mom... Mom is just sitting at home believing that you are coming home for real, but she knows just as well as I do you are not coming to our home. You know you have another child too, who is still alive and who needed her father for the past two years. You literally threw 20 years away of the relationship we had. You weren't the only one who lost someone. I lost my brother to a car accident, my father to drugs, and my mother to depression that you caused her. I lost everything, everyone, and that is why I'm leaving!"

"That's not fair, V!" he said mostly softly, looking straight into the unknown.

"No, Dad, you know what's not fair? Life. But you don't see me bitching and moaning about it. Suck it up!"

I stand up, but before I decide to walk away, I just wanted to add something, just because I can. "And Dad, you don't get the privilege to still call me 'V'; that relationship drowned last year, no saving that ship. I just came to say goodbye."

He got a goodbye because I wasn't planning on seeing him again. I walked to my car not even looking back because I knew if I looked back at him, I would regret confronting him, but he deserved every word headed his way.

In the car, I just tried to breathe. I get my asthma pump and pump it three times, trying to convince myself I did the right thing even though it didn't feel right. I grab a sedative and start sobbing, screaming, and slamming the steering wheel. Everything around me felt deafening. I love him but hate him so much.

At about 8:00 p.m. I reach home. It is quiet, so I walk past Mom's room and see her sleeping. I give her a kiss on her forehead and pull the blanket over her, closing her door, and walk to my room.

I throw the heels into a corner of my room and give my feet a massage. I turn on my light, and that's when this day just got worse. She, referring to my mother, threw a tantrum. She threw all my books out of my bookshelf all over my bedroom floor. My posters were ripped from the walls, picture frames shattered on the floor. I gasp and sink to my knees. I start throwing the necessary things into a box; I don't even pick up the glasses or clean her mess. This wasn't my mess; this mess was made from selfishness. I rub my hands over my eyes, and that's when my eyes caught the snow globe. I fall to my knees, rubbing my fingers over what's left of it. Dad gave this to me on my 21st, the last present I received from him—broken. It was a snow globe with the Eiffel Tower because Danny and I always wanted to go to Paris to see what the big fuss was all about. I pick it up from the ground and throw it into the dustbin. I take a quick shower and decide to cry myself to sleep.