The Forgotten

Dear, Dad

     It was 3:15 A.M and I heard my mom on the "Housing Opportunities" phone, chatting with someone. I pretended I was still sleeping for the sake of my mother. I listened in. "How did you know I was here?" My mom asked, breathing heavy and tapping her foot. I couldn't hear what the other person said, so I can't recongnize who the person is. "You don't care. You don't care about Isabelle or I!" My mom yelled. "If you really want to see us... Then prove it!" My mom hollered, slapping the phone back to place. After she hung up, she plopped down on our bed and puffed out warm breath. She sounded irritated. "Who was that?" I barked, sitting up. "It doesn't matter, Belle. Go back to bed it's too early for you to be waking up."  My mom replied. "Ugh, tell me." I thought. "Was it my dad?" I spit out. After I said that, I covered my mouth. Oops.
"I can't pretend anymore." She replied, shaking her head. I was confused.
"About what?" I curiously asked.
"Fine, Isabelle. It was your father. He claims he misses us. Even me. I don't know what he was doing, it was loud. I don't even care. He doesn't, either." My mom cried.
"Maybe he does care, mom! Have some hope in it." I said, sticking up for my dad.
"Stop sticking up for him, I know he doesn't. But, I'm going to give him a chance. He ain't going to come see you after what he did to me. Why do you want to stick up for him? He abused me. He's a former drug addict, Isabelle!" My mom hollered.
"It's hard not having a father in my life. Chris did the job until he turned out to be a scum-bag." I ranted.
My mother rolled her eyes and mumbled: "Agreed."
"So... How do you want to give him a second chance?" I asked, laying back down.
"Write to him. He informed me with his current address. He begged me to let you write a quick little letter to him. Go ahead. I honestly don't care. I don't want you two to lose connection. I didn't have a father as a child, and it sucked. He died at war, that sucked more. I wish I still had a connection with my mom. If I did we wouldn't be living this messy life." My mom said, stroking her long, brown hair. "I need a haircut... I wish I had money." My mother added, continuously touching her long hair.
I sighed and closed my eyes. I imaged what I'd say to him. I can't tell him about any of my accomplishments because I don't have any. Nobody likes me, and I'm sure my father already knows that.
"Dear dad... I'm a suckish loser who does nothing and gets bullied and I hate my life." I thought.
God, I wish I can actually say that. He deserves to know that I suck.