It's Hard to See in Colour When You're Miserable

What was wrong with me? Why didn’t he love me as much as Rory? I was just as much his flesh and blood as my brother was. So why didn’t my father seem to care about me? I did everything for him and more, yet I was just placed on the back burner while he spent all his time with Rory.

What did Rory have that I didn’t? A penis… that was about it. Yet he was the only one my father seemed to care about. I loved Rory, he was my twin after all, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t jealous of him.

I watched my father and Rory play soccer in the back yard of my father’s house through my bedroom window. A pang of sadness ran through me. I wanted to be out there with them. But of course, the thought to ask me to play never occurred to them. I knew out father didn’t really care for soccer, it just never really seemed to be his thing. but of course if Rory wanted to play, he was all over it.

This happened every time Rory and I came to visit. Rory and our father would practically be attached at the hip, and I was lucky if I got asked how my day was. Not that he really seemed to care. I was just pushed aside like it was nothing, or told that he was too buisy or tired to do anything, when I knew damn well that he wasn’t.

It just didn’t make sense to me. I went above and beyond to get my father to notice me. But nothing worked. I could cook, clean, play guitar, I was told that I could sing well, I was smart, and I was pretty good at sports. I even tried to get negative attention by doing drugs, drinking, having sex, letting my grades slip… eating dirt. But I got practically no response from him.

I joined a play once when I was in grade nine. It was one of the most terrifying thing’s I’d ever done. I had one of the lead roles. But I worked hard and learned all my lines because mum told me that dad had promissed to come see me. I was crushed when he never showed up for any of the showings. But he did manage to show up for Rorys soccer game the night after my last performance. That was really the first time it hit me, I’d finally realised that I wasn’t a prioridy in my fathers life.

It wasn’t like we saw our father all the time either. He usually had things to do with his band, Def Leppard. Or when he was free to do something Rory and I would be busy. I was usually the buisy one, but Rory didn’t like leaving me alone over long periods of time. it was a twin thing, and it was a little annoying at times. But I felt the same way. it was nice to know that someone did actually care about me.

I should have been used to it by now. I couldn’t remember a time when he actually paid attention to me. He may have when Rory and I were babies, but that was under the watchful eye of our mother.

I had actually been looking through an old photoalbum before Rory and I came here for our visit, and there were pictures of our fith birthday. Dad had Rory proudly sitting on his lap with a new guitar infront of him, trying to teach him how to play. I didn’t really realise that I was in the picture, until I saw a very sad looking younger me pearing out from behind the chair. Memories of that day came flooding back to me. Rory had fun with the guitar for a little while, but soon abandoned it to play with his friends. but I, wanting to be just like my dad, picked up the guitar and tried to play what he had been showing Rory. I didn’t even get so much as a second glance.

I had to stop watching them. They were having fun. But it just made me want to curl up in a ball and cry. I just couldn’t understand what was so wrong with me? Why couldn’t my own father love me?

I walked down stairs to the living room, and sat on the couch. I had had a pretty bad day at school, and the last thing I needed was to think about all of this. Some girl had been trying to seduce my boyfriend, and he didn’t seem to be objecting. I wanted to talk to someone about it, to know if I was overreacting over the whole thing or if I should just dump him. But I didn’t really have anyone to go to.

I just lay down on the couch and watched the ceiling. A few minutes later my father joined me in the living room and turned on the TV. I looked over at him as he started to flip though the channels.

Maybe I could talk to him about it. He was a guy. Guys knew guy signals. He could tell me if I was just over analyzing this, or if I should just call it quits with Jake. It was worth a shot.

“Hay dad,” I said happily, I hoped this would work.

He glanced over at me and slightly smiled, “hay Zia.”

“How was your day?”

“Good, you?”

“Not so good.”

“Oh,” at this point I could tell he was paying less attention to our conversation, “what happened?”

“Well-“

“Hay Rory! Why don’t you pick out a movie to watch, I can’t find anything decent,” he suddenly cut me off.

Of course, as soon as Rory entered the room all dad’s attention whent to him. I was just brushed off like it was nothing! Well that was it! I’d had enough!

“Are you kidding me?” I snapped glaring at my father, who was handing Rory the remote.

They both stopped and looked at me. Shock written all over their faces. Not once in my sixteen years had I ever snapped at anyone. Not even when I was going through my rebellious stage.

“We were in the middle of a conversation, and you just interrupt me as soon as Rory walks in the room!” I continued.

“Zia… I… um…” dad trailed off dumbly, he obviously wasn’t getting it.

“What’s so wrong with me? Hum? Why can’t you ever pay attention to me? Why does everything have to revolve around Rory?” hot angry tears were spilling from my eyes now, I was just so tired of everything, and so hurt. All my feelings were coming out of me like a broken tap, I just couldn’t make myself stop, “did you ever actually love me, or just him?” I got up and angrily pointed at Rory.

“I love you,” dad said quietly, maintaining confident eye contact.

“No you don’t,” I shook my head, seeing straight through his lies, “take that back!”

He got up from his seat, “yes I do,” he persisted, “more then anything, you’re my daughter.”

“No,” I said with a dangerously calm tone, “you’re a liar.”

I didn’t wait to hear his reaction. I needed to get away from him. I couldn’t believe how easily he lied to my face. I ran to my room and slammed the door behind me. The tears were flowing freely now, I could hardly see. I was so mad, so hurt.

I grabbed my favourite guitar and smashed it as hard as I could against the floor. It neck broke off with a loud satisfying snap, but that wasn’t enough. I opened my window and threw it out. I then over turned my nightstand and smashed my TV on the floor.

I was working on overturning my wardrobe when two strong arms pulled me into a tight hug, “calm down, baby girl. This isn’t going to make anything better.”

“I don’t care,” I managed to choke out, I was practically choking on tears. I could hardly see what I was doing. I turned around and returned my fathers hug “I hate you.”

He calmly stroked my hair, “I know.”

It sounded like he was on the verge of tears. We stood like that for a few minutes. He gently rocked us back and fourth, as he stroked my hair. It was sad that it took me loosing it for him to finally be a father to me. But I wasn’t complaining, this is what I had wanted all along.

“I-I’m so sorry,” his voice cracked, he was definitely crying now too, he kissed the top of my head, “I’m so sorry.”

That was all I really needed to hear, it didn’t mean it made up for everything, but it was a start, “I forgive you.”