The Joy Project

The Number 13

When I was born into this world, I very much remember it. My name then wasn't Malinda, it was Bryanna Faith Clark. Call me crazy. I remember seeing life for the first time. Maybe because of the traumatic past, or maybe I really am insane. I was born from a beautiful alcoholic mother with bleach blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes. She drank while I was in the womb, of course. The day was Friday, January 13th, of 2002. Yes, I was born on Friday the 13th. Now this may very much explain why my luck is so horrible. My father was a hippie. Long hair and big glasses. Ripped jeans and a calming attitude. He always wore tie-dye shirts. I loved him. I looked up to him. He wasn't around much, though. Spending countless hours being a handyman to whoever needed help. He supported a woman who was also never home, my mother. Often leaving my little brother and I home alone, she would go out and drink. I was a baby at the time, but I recall the trailer carpet being a dark green color. I also recall not having any food at the house so that resulted to my brother and I eating tubes of chapstick. I thought that's what love felt like. I wasn't really sure what I felt. I was a baby after all. I can remember when my dad would come home from work though, I would be so happy to see him. He came home once with a black rabbit. I named him grease. He also came home with a little guitar for me. So I could be just like him. I have it to this day. He would sing to me "you are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You'll never know dear, how much I love you. So please don't take my sunshine away." I loved my mommy too. She was so beautiful. One time she brought home beers and I loved her too much so I shook them all up and they exploded, one by one. She didn't appreciate that. I grew up in a poor part of  South Bend. Hearing gunshots and loud car races on a weekly basis. My neighbors were in gangs, but they loved to visit me. Let's fast forward to my third birthday. I was so excited to turn three. I was excited for my party. I was sitting by the door, waiting for daddy to come home. Thinking about what birthday present he had gotten me. He never came home. I was confused. My grandmother and mom threw me a birthday party. I went up to my mother and asked her where daddy was. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and told me daddy went to heaven. I asked her if he was coming back for my party and she said no. She said a man thought he was the road and now he's with Jesus. I was confused and sad that he didn't come that night. My mother gave me a musical snow globe and said daddy wanted me to have it. I loved it. The next day, dad never came back. I was still waiting for him though. God took my sunshine away. Please don't take my sunshine away. I would sing that song every day, hoping he could hear me. I woke up one morning to the sound of buzzing coming from the bathroom. I opened the door to see my mother standing there. Half bald, drunken, and crying with a razor to her head. I asked my mommy what she was doing. She said now that daddy's gone she doesn't have to be pretty. That was one of the last times seeing my mother. I remember being held over my dads casket, a tie-dye shirt and ripped jeans. I thought he looked so handsome. The number 13 took my sunshine away. So the number 13 will always pop up in my life, with bad luck following me. #13 #13 #13 #13