The File

The File ~ Chap. 5

My friend and I still want to know which is better, this or Chasing for Answers. you don't have to read both and tell me which you think is better, I mainly just want to see which gets more comments/criticism and votes. I really want to know what you think!

Comment/vote/fan!

__________

Tate

I was so bored over the weekend again. Saturday night, I was in my room, and whenever there was some sort of noise, I jumped, expecting it to be the phone, with my father on the other line.

The only thing that kept me together was my mom being right downstairs this time. But after a few of the longest hours ever, I fell asleep.

Weirdly enough, in the morning, I felt a lot better. I still had the memory of my dad's death call, but it didn't bother me as much anymore. I thought I was finally getting out of the denial and sadness stages of loss. I knew I would always miss him, he was my father after all, but I could live my life in peace-with the good stuff in mind. And that assured me.

For example, when I was seven, I had really wanted to go to the amusement park. I begged and begged, and finally my dad gave in and brought me. While there, I had two corn dogs, and a chocolate milkshake. After having all of that, I wanted to go on the Twister.

My dad knew it would be a bad idea, but when I threatened to cry-I know, I was one sweet little girl-he let me go on. He warned me that I probably wouldn't feel good if I did, but I didn't care.

After the ride, low and behold, I didn't feel good. When I first walked back over to my dad, I puked on his shoes. Holding back the "I told you so" he probably wanted to say, he led me into the bathroom-the men's one I might add-and now that I think about it, some of those guys were pretty hot. Though I obviously know I had no chance after having bile all over me.

Anyway, he led me into the bathroom, and he held my hair back as I threw my guts up. And ever since then, I have learned that if you have corn dogs, a milkshake, and a ride on the Twister, you will see a lot of hunks staring at you as you throw up in the men's bathroom with your dad.

Keeping that nice thought in the front of my mind, I got out of bed and decided to go out. Where I did not know. Maybe I would just walk around town, and start up conversations with people I knew.

So that was what I did. After getting changed and having breakfast, I left the house, and, as crazy as it would seem, visited my father's grave. I knew exactly where it was: It was more to the side, in the back of the cemetery, out of view, but at the same time in it, just as my dad wanted.

I gazed down at the grave. "Hey, dad," I said to the fresh mound of soil. "How are you?"

I'd heard it was good to talk to a loved one's grave. It helped you realize the truth, but you could also get your feelings out in a place where they were most likely to hear you, wherever they were.

"I'm kind of worried about what kids at school think of me, now," I vented. "I've been gone a while, and everyone knows why. I just want to be like everyone else, but I don't know how to do that now."

Nothing happened. No eerie wind blowing, no whispers in the woods, nada-zip-zilch.

I slowly lowered down onto my knees, and traced the wording on my dad's tombstone...

Morris Karsten

Loving husband and father

"Here is the test to find whether your

mission on Earth is

finished: if you're alive, it isn't."

October 16, 1968 - September 6, 2008