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writingonacloudblog · 4 years ago

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I Will Always be His Daughter

I remember when I was six-years old, my father would deadbolt the doors so no one could get in, but also so I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t go outside to play with the other kids or even run around in the backyard. I always wondered why he did that but even when I was a teenager, I never had the courage to ask. Mostly because my father looked at me like I was a monster he was required to live with. I always thought he would kill me one day, but I actually came out of that house alive. I saved up all the money I could find around the house as my father drank his life away and promised I would never see him again. And if he died, I wouldn’t care.

As I sit in my kitchen with a cup of coffee in my hand, I can’t help but think of what my father is doing right at this moment. Mostly because it’s been twenty years since we last seen each other, and I remember that day vividly. I was sixteen years old at the time and I finally saved up enough to leave his house for good. So, I grabbed 2 outfits and put them into a small trash bag to go on my own journey to find my identity. Sadly, it was a special day for me, the mother I lost, and a tragic day for him.

“You ungrateful little bitch…” He mumbled under his breath as I walked into the living room with my bag in hand. Even though I was 16 I knew I needed to act like an adult and take my life into my own hands. I needed to make sure the life I was given isn’t wasted away on a drunk old man who can’t remember he has a daughter to take care of. I wanted the life I would see on all the TV shows like My Wife and Kids and Good Times where the family would laugh with each other and be understanding even when there are struggles. I wanted a family that would love me unconditionally and not push me towards a dark abyss of depression.

I looked at him with tears in my eyes trying to keep them from cascading down my face. I didn’t want to show weakness as I was about to leave. I wanted show that I was stronger than what he thought I was. I wanted to show him the “monster” that he didn’t create.

“So, you want to leave? You are just like your mother you know?” He laughed as he took another swig of whiskey.

“How can I be someone I never met? She died before I was born, or did you forget? Are you that drunk that you can’t remember that? That drunk that you can’t for a second remember her!” I asked feeling the suppressed frustration being released for the first time. I could feel tension in the room as I said these things most 16-year-olds wouldn’t mouth to their parents. It’s always respect your elders but never respect children as well.

“You should ask yourself that question. Don’t you realize everything I have done for you? The long nights I have worked to make sure you had food or the clothes you are wearing, “

“You made that money so you could drink it away. I am not that innocent child anymore. I know exactly what you have done for me! Nothing. All you have done for me is make me resent you,”

“LAYLA MARIE!”

“You have no right to call me by my name. No right to have kept me locked up in this house. And the audacity to call me the name that my mother gave me? You are a real piece of work.”

“Watch your mouth…”

“No, I won’t. I am tired of not living my life! I have no one here. I am alone here. I am tired of being treated like I am some murderer!” I yelled with every breath I had left. I remember feeling my throat become scratchy from all the yelling. I remember clenching my fist wanting to harm him in some way. I remember hearing him laugh at me and mocking me with a smile like a Cheshire Cat.

“I should have let her give you up you know. Because if you weren’t here, SHEwould be here!” He yelled at me his smile changing like the weather. From sunshine to a thunderstorm his whole demeanor became dark. This man was my father and I had to get away.

________________________________________________________

I put my coffee cup down into the sink and go into the fridge to grab the cupcake with a candle on top that I bought after work. When I place it on the counter all the memories of my father flash before my eyes. Him sitting in his recliner after he got off work, watching the NBA playoffs as I sat in my room wondering why I wasn’t allowed to eat that night. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes in the living room wafting up my nose even though I am in my own house, like my father was right beside me. I lit the candle on the cupcake with my lighter thinking of all the birthdays I had before. They weren’t happy at all.

“Happy Birthday Layla….” I say to myself before I blow out the candle not making a wish. I never made one in the past so why make one now. I could hear my phone ring in the other room. I check the time on the oven and it’s too late for anyone to call me. I have no friends or a lover. Its just me against the world as it should be. But for some odd reason I get a feeling that I should answer immediately. Like my world will crumble if I don’t. So, I walk into the other room and pick up my cell phone, hesitant to answer.

“Hello?” asked the voice on the other line. The words wouldn’t form from my mouth.

“Hello? Is this Layla Jones? I am calling about your father, Fredrick Jones,” Hearing his name for the first time in years made my heartbeat rapidly like a drum. Why am I getting a call about him?

“Y yes this is her. Who am I speaking to?”

“I am a nurse at Matagorda General Hospital. I am sorry to inform you of this news, but your father passed away this morning.”

My heart and time stopped. I didn’t know whether to celebrate or to cry. I didn’t know whether to tell her to go away and leave me alone or to cry and ask if she is lying. 20 years later and no call or an apology from him. And now he’s gone from this earth.

“I’m so sorry Ms. Jones. If you would like I can connect you to,”

“No no that won’t be necessary. Thank you for letting me know,” I said before hanging up the phone and sitting on the floor staring at the wall. I knew I have to go back home and bury him since he didn’t have anyone else. At least that’s how I left him. I left him there with his whiskey in hand drunk like he always was.

I take few deeps breaths to calm my nerves and get up from the floor to pack my suitcase for my flight back home. I know don’t have a ticket, but I know that I can get one for 2 days later. I grab my nice black suitcase with leather handles and grab the clothing that is suitable for the humid weather that makes your hair frizz up into an afro. I close my suitcase up after getting everything packed away neatly and set it to the side in my room. I always thought one day I would have to face him, but I didn’t think I would be facing him in a coffin.

________________________________________________________

A few days later, I landed in my hometown feeling a sense of myself again. The humidity embraced me into a tight hug as I placed my bags into the car I rented for the few days I would be here. I put my old home’s address into the GPS hoping that when I arrive my father still hadn’t moved out. Driving down these small-town roads and seeing places I never got to explore like the schools or the small shopping center, makes me feel like I don’t know this place at all. The only place I remember is my fathers’ house and the airport. The only memory being my father and that’s all.

I pulled up to the house and saw about ten cars parked on the side of the road along with 3 cars parked in the driveway including my dad’s old 1990 Chevrolet Impala. I didn’t think my dad had anyone in his life when I left. He never had friends that came over to watch the game or have a couple drinks. He never really talked about his family or my mom’s family since he was practically disowned, and he felt a lot of guilt about my mother’s death that he never told them that I was still alive.

I got out of my car and locked it, walking up to the front door that has changed since I was last here. I remember staring at the old front door analyzing the rusted screws and the dents on the top and bottom. Now it has changed to a door as white as dove with bronze screws and a beautiful flower wreath that makes me think of the gates to heaven. I try to calm myself taking a few deep breaths as I lift my hand to knock on the door wondering who I will face.

A woman opens the door staring at me, and I don’t recognize her. She was about 5’5’’ with a salt and pepper braided bun greased down to perfection, her eyes red but her demeanor stronger than a bull. I could smell her perfume and felt a sense of nostalgia to the old ladies in church who would always sit in the front of service and fan themselves while singing every church hymn loud for everyone to hear.

“Can I help you?” She asked staring me down like I was a threat to her.

“Yes, ma’am I am just wondering if I am at the right place actually.” I said looking past her and seeing about 20 people in a house with a changed interior from what I left it. The recliner he used to sit in is gone. The smell of smoke and whiskey doesn’t waft towards my nose anymore, but a scent of lavender incense mixed with this woman’s perfume surrounds me.

“Well, I can only tell you if you let me know what you are looking for chile,” She placed her hands on her hips and stared at me like she was trying to figure out who I was.

“A man I used to know lived here and I heard he passed away, so I came to pay respects. But I think I might be at the wrong place,” I stared at the ground and sighed preparing to be on my way to the hotel I booked. I could feel her eyes analyzing my face and my clothing wondering if I was some good for nothing child who is looking for trouble. Most likely asking herself why I had showed up at her house?

“Well, the only man who stayed here was my husband, Fredrick. Are you a friend of his from his old job? Or from the grocery store?” She asked, her eyebrow arched up. I couldn’t tell her I was his daughter because I doubt he ever mentioned me. His daughter who left him behind to find her own life. And imagine being the wife of a man who had daughter you didn’t know about?

“Yes, ma’am I knew him from the grocery store. I am sorry for you’re lost.”

“This gathering is only for family but thank you for the condolences. I am sure Freddie is in a better place.”

“Mom” a feminine yet bright voice called from behind her. When the older woman turned around, I caught glimpse of a girl who looked similar my dad with light brown eyes and his nose. She looked to be in her early twenties with a beautiful black designer dress you would see in Vogue magazine. She must be my fathers’ pride and joy since she doesn’t look like she has suffered at all.

“Yes Kayla?” the older woman asked back.

“Who’s at the door?” Kayla asked catching a glimpse of me before I put my head down looking at the ground, praying to God that I can just run back to my car and get the hell out of here.

“Just a bagger from the grocery store baby girl.”

“Well Aunt Shelly needs help with the potato salad she’s about to put raisins in it again.”

“I swear this woman is gonna make me lose my damn mind…” She mumbled as she turned to look at me. “Thanks again for coming by Honey, we all appreciate it. These last 2 days have been very hard on us. I used to go to the hospital everyday to go check up on him and it hurt me to see him in pain. I am just glad he is back home with the lord. He was such as good father and an even greater husband you know?” She tried to hold back her tears. I couldn’t agree on anything she was saying at all. The father I had was not good at all. He wasn’t some angel sent from heaven, but I guess that’s just her view of a devil in disguise.

As she and I said our goodbyes and the door closed in front of me, I regretted going back to my father’s home. I got back into my car with my suitcase in the trunk and drove back to the airport. There was no reason for me stay there when I’m not his family anyway. The way he treated me I shouldn’t want to pay respects to him at all. He had a new wife and daughter while I was struggling to come to terms that I never will have a sitcom relationship with him. I had to go to therapy and find love within myself because I lacked the love and support of a parental figure. He made me look like a fool again except in death.

I drove back to the airport straight from the funeral. I didn’t care how much a plane ticket would cost me, I just wanted to go back to my life again. I wanted to leave the past behind and pay attention to my future again. I sat in the waiting area and all I could do is stare at the carpet, watching the patterns expecting it to change and have some type of relief. I remember sitting in this airport with a trash bag, a plane ticket, and no plan, crying for someone to save me from him. I begged God to end my suffering and let me be with my mother. Yet, he was a good father?

When I got on the plane, all the comprehension of what just occurred just wouldn’t add up to me. He had a whole replacement family that doesn’t even know about me. I bet they don’t know about my mother or how he was a useless drunk so many years ago. The man who I begged to be my father for years until I had enough.

When I arrived back at my condo from my overnight flight back, I went to check my mailbox for my usual credit card bills and rent reminder. But instead, there was an envelope with a scent I knew too well. I looked at the envelope and read Fredrick Jones on the left-hand corner. A part of me wanted to burn the letter in the fireplace, especially since I wasted a trip to be confronted by his new family that he most likely treated in the way I always hoped he would treat me. But the other side of me wanted to open the letter carefully and cry until my eyes became sore. I wanted to open and see an apology for the way he treated me all those years. I wanted to finally hear him say that I am not a disappointment or a murderer.

So many things in one letter that I wanted to be said so I can cry until I can’t cry anymore. The years of hatred I had for this man and the love I was looking for in this man will be buried 6 feet under. But I will never open this letter. I will never forget my father and I know I will always be his daughter.

#shorts #original work

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