Backstage Pass

Let It Go (Part 1)

I used to be normal. I was like every other little girl in a mildly wealthy suburban area. Bright, cheery, well-behaved, and sweet; I was every parent's dream. My parents were strict but I loved them still. They were the kind of people anyone could go to for advice. My siblings? My older sister was something of an It Girl. She was impossibly photogenic and intelligent. She made gingery curls work for her. She was extremely popular among her peers. My brother was a bit of a genius and highly athletic. A bit anti-social but if you were fortunate enough to befriend him, he was a friend for life. I was happy and I didn't have a care in the world. I was normal.

So what's my point?

My point is that I am not normal anymore.

My dad was a construction worker, all muscle despite his being a little on the older side. When I was four, Daddy-Dearest had an accident. He was working at a construction site, like always, and he fell of the building. He died... Kind of.

Technically, he died. He looked like he was drowning in his own blood, according to the eye witnesses. His bones were broken, his blood was flowing, his pulse was slowing; there was little hope. Except Darling-Mumsie stuck by her husband's side. She hoped and prayed that he would live; she clung to the corpse and willed it to live.

And so it did. He, I mean. A once in a lifetime miracle before her very eyes! The doctors were astounded, my siblings and I were relieved, and my mother thanked the Lord for the answer to her prayers.

What a lovely story, indeed. A family reunited with their once deceased father; a bond that not even the stars themselves could not break! Ha.

My dad had to stay away from work to recover, so Mama had to work more than she had to before. Mumsie was a maid. She worked for rich, white families with massive houses and big fluffy dogs. She started coming home later than usual and she was always tired. Sometimes I could hear her cry after coming home from work. We found out the she was sick. She was sick and the chemicals in the cleaning products were making her feel worse. I don't remember the details about her sickness. It was a long time ago and I was practically a baby. She had to give up working and my brother had to get a job. 

My mom and dad's medical bills wrecked us. We fell into debt and sweet little Melody was told to grow up. Baby Melody didn't know what was going on, nor did she really care. She thought the visits to the hotels and sleep overs at her aunt's house were fun. She liked eating cheap junk foods and getting out of the house all the time.

"Melody, you have to promise not to tell anyone about what happens at home okay?" they told me.

Little me nodded, not really understanding why I couldn't tell anyone anything. If I could go back in time and tell myself what was going on, I don't think I would. Little four-year-old Melody was going to go through worse.

My sister, Kayla, was a freshman in high school at the time. My brother, George, was a junior. George and Kayla were like a second set of parents. They fed me, dressed me, and taught me about life. Kayla taught me about boys and clothes while George taught me about music and movies. She painted my nails while he taught me how to catch and dodge. She braided my hair while he showed me how to play Madden 2003 on Playstation. I was practically their baby. I loved them to pieces and nothing could come in between us.

Until Kayla met David and his friends.

Kayla was a good girl. She was Daddy's second favorite (after me, of course). She could have saved for Harvard because she could have made it in. She was good in school and she was never truant. She spoke Spanish and she was fluent. She was leader of the dance group at the church we went to. That's where the trouble started: dance group.