When Daddy's Gone

Ever since I was a young girl, I loved running.

My father would take me with him on his routine and say, "Olivia, if you
get tired let me know and I'll bring you home." He always was impressed with how
long I could run before getting tired.

As I got older, each weekday morning I would get up just as the sun would rise,
dress in shorts and a tank top, tie my too long brunette hair up, and go for a
run. I'd run five miles and get back in time to get ready for school. On the
weekends I worked early in the morning and had the same routine.

However, that particular morning I felt a bit off- like something was going to
happen sometime in the day. I had gotten up late, got tooth paste on my shirt,
bit my tongue during breakfast, twisted my ankle while running, and stubbed my
toe not once, but three times. I knew it was going to be a bad day. When I was
sitting in third period biology I knew it was the moment I'd been waiting for
since my terrible morning.

"Olivia Rizzo, please report to the main office." Mr. Farro, my obnoxious teacher, said for all the class to hear. As I stood up all my classmates looked at me, thinking I had done something wrong, with shocked looks on their faces. However, I knew exactly why I was being called down; I knew enough not to panic and try to figure out something I possibly could have done wrong to be called to see the vice principal, who did all the hard work while my actual principal did nothing but wander around the school.

As I walked into the room the vice principal said, "Have a seat, Ms. Rizzo."

I pressed the back of my skirt down to make sure nothing was revealed as I sat, then crossed my legs. After seeing me sit and at complete attention Mr. Dallas continued, "I understand you are excited about hearing the results of the student body elections today, but you may want to go home. If you are one of the students who have been chosen, which you and I both know there is no doubt you weren't, you may hold your speech tomorrow." When I didn't respond he said the words I was dreading, "Your father is being deployed."

I stood up, unable to speak, barely able to nod a response. Before I walked out of his office he patted me on the back and said he was sorry and that he'd sign me out of school.

Getting in my 1965 Mustang GT passed down to me from my father, which was passed down by his, I thought, missing the results of the elections is the least of my worries right now. I tried to think about the election, though, on my may home, along with other things to keep my mind off of what was really troubling me. It seems like the ride went way slower than the usual fifteen minute drive and when I pulled up my long driveway to the house I was shocked to not see my brother's car parked in the driveway.

"Where's Derek," I snapped, not angry with them, but with my older brother.

I could barley hear my mother's soft whisper, "He... got mad and left."

Although I was very pissed I pushed it aside for the moment (he'd get an ass chewing later!) and ran up to my daddy. I jumped into his arms and he caught me, just like we did when I was a little girl. The water behind my eyes I tried holding in since my name got called third period couldn't contain themselves anymore. One of his arms let go of me and he held me with one strong arm as he wiped away my tears before setting me down.

"Olivia, you are too big for me to do that now," He laughed. One look at my face must have told him there was no way I could be persuaded into a joking mood because he turned serious. "That election is today. Sweetie, you didn't have-"

I cut him off. "Yes I did! Seeing you before you're gone for God knows how long is what I want to do. Fuck the election!" My mother made a gasp and looked like she was about to lecture me but my dad gave her a hard look that said 'no.' After a moment I was calm again. "I'm going to miss you." I gave him another hug and he kissed me on the top of my head. Then, he walked over to my mother, squeezed her tight in a hug, kissed her on the lips, and headed toward the door.

"I love you both. Don't forget to write me." The door was closed before I even got to say 'I love you, too.'