Solo & Gangly

Chapter One

Chapter One

Gangly

Mistress.

That's what Mom had called her, among other things.

Dad called her the love of his life, and hinted, in a very indirect and belittling way, that Mom was a mistake and merely a means to find the person who'd complete him.

The words hurt.

They stung.

They were soul destroy, heart crushing, and mind numbing, malicious words.

But the truth and conviction he spoke them with was more than enough to turn this once daddy's little girl that thought he was Prince Charming and the perfect husband and father, to a stranger that hated him with unbridled passion.

I suppose passion was something he didn't deserve, but most fourteen year olds gave more than they should.

Mistress.

Those words left Mom's lips for the first time three years-five months-fourteen days ago.

The last time I saw my Dad outside of the courtroom was three years-twenty-one days ago.

Christmas.

Birthdays.

Summers.

Dad was a no show for each.

The court papers said he got me all summer, on my birthday, and over Christmas holiday.

Dad declined without having to mutter a single word.

Recitals.

Plays.

Concerts.

Again, Dad wasn't there.

When Mom tried for the fifth time to kill herself, again Dad was without word or concern.

At not even seventeen years old, I was checking Mom into a private mental facility that was supposed to be her only means for hope. They called it a stopping point in her recovery. Ninety days at most, they assured me.

Ninety turned into three hundred before I knew it.

The state said I couldn't stay with her, and that home care wasn't possible in her condition.

I didn't need a caseworker or facility director to tell me that.

When Mom was locked away, dealing with her issues, I bounced between foster homes for five months while they tried to track Dad down.

That was more than enough to grow hatred and resentment towards the man that created me then abandoned me without giving it a second thought.

If I were to be completely honest, I rather have been bounced between strangers' homes then have anything to do with my father. And apparently, he mirrored my opinion on it since I hadn't heard from him and neither had the caseworkers.

But all that changed on my birthday.

As I sat in the waiting room at the facility, waiting to see Mom so we could share a cupcake and I could tell her about my day, the head of the facility joined me. The words leaving her lips I couldn't completely understand, not that I wanted to, and as she shook her head and kept apologizing, I knew it was over.

Mom hung herself with a sheet that morning, on my birthday of all days.

I suppose it only made sense.