randomness x 10

Sometimes it feels like lissa has everything. Materialistic things yes, but it seems that the more she has, the more she wants.

I can remember being her age like it was yesterday. I didn’t have Christmas, I didn’t have birthdays, and I didn’t have Easter or Halloween or anything. I didn’t ask for much. I barely got much, but that made me appreciate every little thing I ever got.

Dad used to take me fishing with him. I think I was around five. We would drive for miles, singing to his rock music in the van. Me, with my scabbed knees and bleach blonde pigtails. Him, with his red beard and baseball hat. We would sing and laugh and I knew I had the best gift going, because I had a dad who loved me more then anything.

When dad would catch the fish, I would cry every time he broke one of their necks. I couldn’t stand the idea of him being able to take the life of something else. It didn’t seem fair that that fish would be served for our dinner that night. I would think about its family and children and give it a proper burial before we left.

Sometimes dad would catch tad-poles and I would make little “houses” for them in the puddles. Sometimes it was really windy on the glaciers and dad would wrap me up in a blanket and build me a “castle” of rocks. The big flat smooth ones, with the little black specks. We would pile them up around me and I would sit there, crying about the fish no doubt, and watch him.

Dad couldn’t do anything wrong in my eyes. He could play the guitar “better then the guys on t.v.” He could “Make better seafood pasta then mom.” He could catch the best fish, casting his line into the air in one smooth movement of his arm, and in seconds bring a fish out on it.

In my whole lifetime, I’ve only ever seen dad cry three times. Out of everything. The first time I can remember it was because he had got frustrated with me and had pushed me aside. I had fallen and hurt my back. He cried because he knew he had an anger problem, he had taken it out on his own child. Dad’s tears mixed with mine.

The second time was the night him and mom had “the final fight.” Him and mom were in the living room, still yelling about a fight that was about me in the first place. They didn’t even notice as me and lissa slipped away. I brought her down to my room, and pulled out the suitcase. I knew we were leaving. I just didn’t know we were leaving for good. Lissa cried, and I had to stop to tell her that she had to grow up a bit more and accept the fact that for some people life was easy, but in ours things like this happened all the time and she should be used to it by now. I packed a pair of pajamas, a pair of jeans and two shirts and some other things I think. I packed lissa’s bag too.

When the sirens were close enough that I could see the lights, dad came down into my room, where we were. He looked at our bags and broke down. His face had been already red, but it was just awful the way it all configured and tears fell. I know through everything he loved us so much, and never wanted to do anything to hurt us. In the saddest voice ever he said that we didn’t have to leave. He said we could stay with him. I told him, in the meanest voice I could have mustered, that we were leaving and he should have though about missing us before.

The third time he cried it was because he had said to me, “You’re still my little girl, and I’m still going to be here for you as you grow up.” And I said, “Dad, you’re too late. I already grew up.” He just looked me over and it wasn’t like sissy crying but I know his eyes got teary.

Dad wasn’t a bad dad. I hate having to defend him because the thing is, anyone who reads this will think that he was. Dad, with all his mistakes and all, was my stability. For most of my life, he was a third of all the family I had. I didn’t have grandparents or cousins or uncles or anything really. I had mom and dad and liss. I didn’t have many friends either. I never tried to make friends at schools, knowing I would only leave them again a few months later. I never tried with anything.

Last May dad called me up, he was on the speakerphone, and I could tell he was playing the guitar. He had been telling me that he was learning to play and sing at the same time, but I didn’t know what for.

He had written me a song. For my birthday. It was the saddest song I’ve ever heard before in my life. It was so slow, and heartfelt. I don’t remember many of the words, but I know that it said, “and I’ve gone crazy…I’ve gone crazy ever since I held you in my arms…”

One time dad said to me, “The only reason I’m still on this earth is for you and lissa.” Maybe that’s right. How many times has he been near death? How many times has god said, “No Sean, It’s not your time now. You have children to take care of.” And then brought him back down to earth? Maybe dad’s given a choice and he chooses to come back to be here for me and liss.

Liss asked for so much this year. She asked for Barbie’s and make-up and stuffed animals and jewelry and the works. But Christmas doesn’t mean a thing to me anymore. Christmas is lonely, it feels like something you watch in slow motion with sad music playing in the background.

Is asking for a break a crazy Christmas wish? Just a break from it all, just some time, alone, solitary, to think. Without people talking about me, or judging things they can’t see. Without mom’s nagging down my neck or teachers giving assignments. Maybe a week on a remote island. With dad and some fishing and a guitar.