My Dad's Band

Packing and Party Planning

"So, your dad was a sings?"

"Yeah, he's really great."

"How come I've never heard him sing?" Andrew asks.

"Because if he sung all the time somebody would've recognized his voice."

"Why couldn't he tell you?"

"I guess he just knew it was in the past. Didn't want to make a big deal out of it," I lied.

"I still find it weird."

"The reason it ended was because of my mum," I stated bluntly.

"Huh?"

"The reason he stopped singing was my mum. She made him choose between her and the band. He chose her. Like, five months later she delivered me and left me all to him within hours of giving birth."

"So, she didn't just walk out because their relationship was at its end?" he asks. My dad's story had been that they had been falling out of love. He also said that she left us just before I turned one. But this explained the lack of baby pictures with her. The only one I had was the one of her holding me for the first and the last time.

"I guess not."

"I'm sorry, Indi. It's her loss, not getting the chance to meet you."

"I know," I look down at my hands. We're sitting on my bed.

"So, what are you going to take to America?" he asks, changing the subject.

"I'm not really sure, yet. Irreplaceable things, I guess. I can always get some new clothes."

"So, are you guys rich?

"Maybe, I don't know. Rich enough to go to America, I guess."

I sling my arm over the bed and reach underneath it to get a small shoebox. It's my keepsake box.

I begin to dig through it: in it my report cards from each year of school, the first tooth I ever lost, photos of me play fútbol from the time I was five to present day, photos from my school dances, and at the very bottom the one photo I had of my mum and I.

She held me, holding me up right against her chest. Smiling despite the tears streaming down here face. My dad stood barely in the photo, leaning against the wall admiring us from afar.
On the bedside table was a colorful bouquet of flowers.

I had her long brown hair, a bit wavy, but a glowing shade. As well as her deep brown eyes and her naturally tanned skin. Her white teeth, perfect smile. But I liked to think my smile was a combination of both of my parents. My dad and mum both had perfectly straight teeth and broad smiles.

After analyzing the picture for a long moment I stuck it back in the box and close the box lid.

"You look just like your mum did at her age," a voice said in the threshold of my door.

"You remind me of her," my dad said as he walked into my room. "Every damn day."

"Is it painful?" I say.

"Not at all. You're lucky you look like her and not like me. I was atrocious."

"Yeah, right, Dad. You still look like you did when you were in your band. If only you'd style your hair up again," I laughed.

"I've considered it so many times," he chuckled.

"I say you do it," Andrew states.

And we all laugh. I wrap my arms around both of their shoulders, pulling them in for a group hug.