Daughter of a Dixon ✔️

03: Dixon's Don't Hug

I didn't even get to see my dad the next morning before he left with Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog. I guess he wanted to get out and get going as quickly as possible, which, I couldn't blame him; Uncle Merle's life was kind of on the line. Although, I knew they would bring him back. Dad wouldn't set foot outside Atlanta unless Uncle Merle was right beside him, one way, or another.

So, that day, I didn't worry about them. I knew they'd get back safely, that they'd be okay. Dad and Uncle Merle were the two toughest people I knew; even the apocalypse wasn't enough to take them out.

But, I was naive, and in the new world I was now facing, that was probably one of the most dangerous things to be.

The day had gone by fairly quickly (I spent most of the afternoon playing with Carl and Sophia), and that night, we had a fish fry. Andrea and Amy had been down at the quarry all day fishing, and thanks to them, we had plenty of food for everyone that night.

We all had a good time, laughing around the campfire and telling stories. For the most part, I just listened to everyone else's stories, since I didn't really have any good ones to tell. As I listened, I couldn't help but realize my life wasn't like anybody else's, and I always knew that, but that night, I realized just how different I really was. Everyone else had amazing, happy, funny stories to tell about their parents, their kids, their family... and I couldn't even think of one to tell about my Dad.

After we finished story-telling, we just talked with each other. I was talking with Carl and Sophia, we were just rambling on about random things. I think at one point we even discussed what our favorite color was and why.

For awhile, all was going really well, and I almost forgot about everything else that was going on.

That was, until someone screamed.

My heart stopped for a moment as I spun around, and saw that, at the door of the RV, Amy was getting attacked.

I hadn't seen one of the dead ones up close until then. It looked just like a normal person; it walked, it moved its extremities, and even looked towards where it heard noise. The differences were that this thing's skin was rotted and gray, it's hair was thin and coming apart, and it only had one motivation to keep moving: food.

Seeing the, "walker" as people around camp call it, sent a lot of people into a panic, including me. I screamed, and made a beeline for the tent Dad and I had set up. Everyone around me was yelling, screaming, and some people were crying, including me.

I rushed into the tent and sealed the zipper behind me, tears forming at the borders of my eyes. I scooted as far back away from the door as I could, pressing myself against the back of the tent. Beside me, I noticed one of Dad's hunting knives next to his cooler, and I carefully placed it in my lap, just in case. With that, I watched the door, and, even though my vision was blurred with tears, I didn't look away, not for one second.

Eventually, there were no more screams from outside. There wasn't any sort of noise at all, really. It got quiet; too quiet.

Slowly, I stood up from my position, and set Dad's knife to the side. I stepped over cautiously to the tent door, and unzipped it as quietly as I could. I only opened it enough so that I could see out, and when I saw who had arrived back at camp, relief flooded through me.

Dad was standing a few feet away from the tent, looking around with a worried gleam in his eyes. I was so shaken up, I rushed directly out of the tent and headed straight for him. I ran over and threw my arms around his waist, considering I was only that tall.

I could feel Dad tense up as he looked down at me, and that's when I remembered the motto.

"Get off, Sid," Dad told me quietly, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder to push me back. I let him push me away, and I looked up to him with tearful eyes.

"Remember the motto, alright?" He said with a firm expression.

I solemnly nodded at him, and he returned the gesture before walking off.

When I was little, I loved hugs. I would hug just about anyone if I knew them well enough, which included Dad. But, Uncle Merle didn't like seeing me get all empathetic or, "weak", as he said, so he came up with a motto for me; Dixon's Don't Hug. Anytime I would try to hug anyone, especially him or Dad, he would stop me, and repeat those three words. Even in the most heartbreaking circumstances, he wouldn't let me.

The worst time was after my grandpa passed away. I didn't know him hardly at all, I was only four when he died, but Dad and Uncle Merle were close to him. He was their father, after all. When we got back home after the funeral, Dad locked himself in his room, and wouldn't come out for hours. The whole time he was in there, I waited for him, sitting at the end of the hallway to make sure he was okay when he came out. When he finally did, his eyes were red and puffy, and he was furiously wiping them for any traces that he'd been crying.

I remember he had looked down at me, and his face was the saddest I had ever seen it. After a minute, he sat down on his knees and pulled me to him, holding me as if he actually cared about me and I actually meant something to him.

But, of course, Uncle Merle was there, and even though he lost the same father Dad did, and should've been feeling the same pain, he still came over and forced me and Dad apart. He looked back and forth from us, and simply said, with cold eyes, "Dixon's don't hug."

That must've been the time that the motto really got drilled into Dad's head, because after that, he never let me see him sad again; around me, he only got angry. Instead of just Uncle Merle telling me the motto, Dad started doing it, too, and he wouldn't let me hug him, or anyone else. I don't know what it was about the night after his father's funeral, but after that, it was as if Dad completely shut off his emotions from me, and the rest of the world.

Even the night of the walker attack, he didn't seem to care that Andrea lost a sister, Carol lost a husband, and Sofia lost a father, and that was beyond me. He just strolled around the camp, gathering up the bodies of the walkers like nothing had happened, as if people's lives hadn't just been ruined.

I didn't see how he could manage it, because for me, as soon as I entered our tent and was alone, the tears came like floodwater.