Stick To the Script // Danny O'Donoghue

Chapter 20-If You Could See Me Now

Danny

I remember the day my dad died like it was yesterday.

I woke up that morning to cold frost on the window.

It was freezing outside, but I was sweating like a dog.

My dad had always kept the house sweltering hot in the winter and freezing cold in the summer.

The rest of my family had gotten used to it, but I on the other hand had not.
I dragged myself out of bed for it was past noon, and began my usual moping as a single man on Valentine's Day.

I shuffled into the shower and stood there under the cold water until I heard yelling outside my door.

"Daniel!" It was my mother.

"Yes Mum!" I said.

"Hurry out here!"

"I'm in the shower Mum!"

"Well move along!"

I forgot about washing my hair and just stepped out of the shower hurrying to put on my clothes. I then made my way through the house.

The floors creaked. This wasn't the same tiny old house that I lived in as a child, but it was still pretty old.

I found my mother in the kitchen with my dad; the two of them sat waiting for me.

"What is it?" I asked grumpily.

"Have a seat Daniel." my father said.

I did as he asked. Normally he and I would butt heads. We used to fight all the time when I was younger. You would think we wouldn't fight much. I was the baby. The parents never fight with the baby. But as I grew into my teenage years and my brothers and sisters left the house I became more and more rebellious. I was sick of being treated like a little kid.

Da didn't want me to grow up though. He was worse than Mum, cradled me like a newborn.

Don't get me wrong. I looked up to Da so much. I idolized him, wanted to be just like him. And he loved me to bits. I knew that.

That problem was we were just too much alike. We fought about the silliest things. We'd be up until midnight at each other's throats while Mum sat in the kitchen about to tear her hair out.

Then though, he almost felt like a stranger to me. I had been away for ten years. I knew him as a man, not as my dad anymore. So when he said these next words it was like hearing them from a stranger.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'm worried about you son." he said. "You've been mopping around for the past few days knowing this day would come. You slept in till noon..."

"I do that every day."

My mum rolled her eyes, "Danny, that's the point. You do this all the time. You get into these moods...It's been three years darling..."

She reached out and grabbed my hand, squeezing it lightly, but I pulled away.

"What we're saying lad, is we think it's time you moved on." my father said.

"From what?" I asked, though I knew. I just wanted to hear him say it.

"Bryna." he said after hesitation. Like he wasn't sure what hearing her name would do to me. "All you do is think about her. You talk about her, you look at her pictures...you sing about her."

For some reason that last part made me mad.

We had grown apart during the last ten years. He hardly ever called. But when he did all he said to me had to do with music in general, his music, my music, my brothers' music.