𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐇// 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐗𝐎𝐂

𝐥𝐱𝐢𝐢. ✭ 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄

APRIL 4, 1974; CHANCE
11:25 - 11:34 p.m.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," I whined, clutching onto my growling stomach. The old truck we sat in rumbled from the exhaust, its air vents streaming out a pathetic attempt at heat.

"I know, Chancie." My daddy said under his breath, leaning over from his seat to buckle me in. "I know." A crease of frustration was pressed into the man's face, paired with his clenched jaw.

He's mad...
He's mad at...at...
Mama.

I thought of how he had found me, left alone in our shabby apartment, laid out on the sofa, just where my mother had left me the night before. When Daddy first started as an officer, he was given the graveyards. The night shifts required him to leave home at midnight and get back around the afternoon. This meant that it was up to Mama to take care of me during the time in between.

Unfortunately, my mother didn't take to embracing the task. She stayed with me up until about a minute after Daddy left, shaking and fiending on the couch until then. I knew how easy it was for her to leave. I knew her process. How she would madly dial our house phone, muttering about drugs to whoever the hell was on the other line.

Even in my half-slept form, I remembered tugging on Mama's shirt, begging her to stay. She was supposed to tuck me in. She was supposed to be there in the morning to make her kid fucking breakfast. But she wasn't.

I was roused by the buzz of cartoons left on the night previous. Looney tunes stayed on while my stomach grumbled and ached all the way up until Daddy came back.

He looked disheveled as he dragged himself into the apartment, eyes rimmed red. The man hadn't slept a wink and a pang of hurt overwhelmed my little chest as he laid his eyes on me. When you're a child you don't understand adults. You speak two different languages and are driven by different things. The only thing I could grasp at that age was emotion.

I watched carefully as an angry tear seeped out onto my father's cheek. He allowed one, knuckling the lone thing away after darting his eyes my way. He hated when I saw him sad. He absolutely hated it.

Daddy's face struggled to fight off emotion, creating a grimace that lay pursed on his lips. He gave up when I fitted my small into his, softly apologizing for another thing I hadn't done, "Sorry, Daddy."

Background Music
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- Under Pressure by Queen, David Bowie-
⇆ㅤ ||◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷||ㅤ ↻

"Not your fault, Baby." Removing his hand from mine, he reached over to scruff up my hair. His face became wet and he had to dry it off on the sleeve of his flannel. "Not your fault at all." Pandering for a moment as we waited at a stop sign, he asked, "What do you have your mind set on? McDonald's?"

"Mhm! A happy meal!" An enthusiastic nod made my chin tremble, followed by a smile I felt split my face. "And extra chicken nuggets!"

"Anything for you, Chancie." My daddy uttered quietly, his sweet earnest nature shining through once again. The old truck groaned as it turned onto the next road. "Anything for my baby."

Lord, how I loved that man. My hero, my savior, my dad. It's shit that admiration only takes you so far as a kid.

MARCH 25, 1986; CHANCE
8:02 - 8:34 p.m.