Macbeth M'love.
CNF1
My eyes gaze from the bright television screen to the clock on the wall, 7:30 PM on a Sunday. There was school in the morning, we were still in Eklutna, and Dad was still asleep. Sighing, I stand, hopping slowly down the stairs to my father’s room where he has slumbered all evening undisturbed. “Dad?” I call into the darkness of the room. A chill is in the air as I said his name again, softly. At that moment I knew something was wrong, turning and walking ever so lightly back up the stairs to my brother. “Ian…” I barely breathe, collapsing back on the couch next to him, “Ian, I don’t think Dad’s breathing.” My tone sounds matter-of-fact yet shocked at the same time. He glances at me with a strange look in his eyes.
“What?” but there’s a bit of urgency in his voice, he’s suddenly standing and reaches the stairs in a matter of seconds. But I’m faster. My feet pound the floor as realization slowly sets in, something was wrong. Very wrong. I open the door and call my father again as Ian arrives at my shoulder. He starts to make his way into the room, but I hold him back. I’ve always felt like I needed to protect him, and right now that urge is overwhelming.
“Go find Granny.” I take a deep breath, plunging into the cold darkness and reaching my father’s side. His body is splayed across the floor where he had been sleeping earlier that day, kneeling next to him I pat his shoulder, whispering “Dad?” No reply. “Daddy?” Once again, no reply. I begin shaking him more vigorously and try to contain the emotions bubbling up from somewhere deep within my being.
What’s going on?” I hear my grandmother’s voice outside the room and snap back to reality. “Dad’s not breathing, or moving. He’s…” but I trail off. I won’t let that word pass through my lips. Not yet.
“Call your aunt.” she says, after disappearing into the room. I retrieve the phone and bring it to her, watching as she calls and lets it ring, ring, ring. No answer. Again, she lets the phone ring, ring, ring. “Go get her.” I didn’t have to be told twice. The truth had begun setting in and I had to get out of the house, away from his body.
My legs didn’t want to work as I ran down the driveway, feeling a rush of pain and heartache. I ripped my phone from my pocket as I collapsed in a puddle of my own sorrow and tears. “Nicole…” I whimper into the phone, as someone answers. Her stepfather, utterly confused by my tear-stained ramblings hands me over to her.
“Hello? Miranda?” confused, she begs me to calm down.
“Okay, okay.” I take a deep breath. “He’s dead Nicole. My Dad’s dead.” the silence which follows is deafening. When she doesn’t tell me I’m wrong, doesn’t tell me everything’s going to be alright, I break. Tears begin flowing down my cheeks in rivers before I hang up the phone and try to stand. Knees shaking, I watch my aunt drive by racing up the driveway to her dead brother’s aid, and to comfort her mother.
“Go down to the house, you don’t need to be here right now!” she calls out the window to me. Numb, I walk to her house and sit on the porch.
“Miranda?” My cousin Mike steps out and lets me into the house. Heart aching I walk to the couch and fall to pieces. My heart bleeds and my tears flow and I ramble to him incessantly about being afraid. Afraid of my mother, afraid of life without a father to turn to, afraid of myself, afraid of this pain. So afraid.
Hours pass. The cops come. The medics pronounce him, and then take his body from us. Putting my father in a bag and walking out the door with his body. My aunt was right when she said I didn’t want to be here for this, but I came back anyways. Everything was a blur, a horrible, violently painful blur of emotion. “I’m going to bed.” Climbing the stairs and fleeing from everyone in Granny’s living room. ‘A living room filled with death, how ironic’ I think with a morbid smirk on my face. It’s the first time I’ve smiled in hours.
Utterly exhausted, I collapse into the bed, pulling familiar smelling and soft blankets up and around my face. I suck in their scent, immediately feeling half asleep and drifting through the cloudy world between dreams and reality. “Hey baby, how are you?” Brenda’s voice is soft in my ears and I smile lightly.
“Sleepy.” I mumble back. The world is becoming fuzzy and I feel as if it’s a dream. We talk, but the all the words are unregistered in my clouded mind. Sleep is near.
The events from that day play through my head over and over again. We’ve been talking for hours and he’s tired. “Time to take a nap,” he says with a smile, “I love you.” I hop up and hug him tightly. “I love you, too, Daddy.” Padding slowly towards the bottom of the stairs I wave goodnight to him and ascend to the room that I’m now laying in, sleep-like and smiling. I tell myself that everything was a dream. The whole day was nothing but another nightmare, another dreadful figment of my imagination. When I woke up it would all be alright. My father would be sitting at the table and he’d be alive. He’d be just fine. I smiled a little as I drifted off to sleep, lost in my euphoria.
But everything was not fine. I awoke the next morning and had to face reality, my heart sinking to the ground as it had the day before. I was shattered into a million pieces that would never be put back together, at least not in the right ways; and I’ve never be the same.
“What?” but there’s a bit of urgency in his voice, he’s suddenly standing and reaches the stairs in a matter of seconds. But I’m faster. My feet pound the floor as realization slowly sets in, something was wrong. Very wrong. I open the door and call my father again as Ian arrives at my shoulder. He starts to make his way into the room, but I hold him back. I’ve always felt like I needed to protect him, and right now that urge is overwhelming.
“Go find Granny.” I take a deep breath, plunging into the cold darkness and reaching my father’s side. His body is splayed across the floor where he had been sleeping earlier that day, kneeling next to him I pat his shoulder, whispering “Dad?” No reply. “Daddy?” Once again, no reply. I begin shaking him more vigorously and try to contain the emotions bubbling up from somewhere deep within my being.
What’s going on?” I hear my grandmother’s voice outside the room and snap back to reality. “Dad’s not breathing, or moving. He’s…” but I trail off. I won’t let that word pass through my lips. Not yet.
“Call your aunt.” she says, after disappearing into the room. I retrieve the phone and bring it to her, watching as she calls and lets it ring, ring, ring. No answer. Again, she lets the phone ring, ring, ring. “Go get her.” I didn’t have to be told twice. The truth had begun setting in and I had to get out of the house, away from his body.
My legs didn’t want to work as I ran down the driveway, feeling a rush of pain and heartache. I ripped my phone from my pocket as I collapsed in a puddle of my own sorrow and tears. “Nicole…” I whimper into the phone, as someone answers. Her stepfather, utterly confused by my tear-stained ramblings hands me over to her.
“Hello? Miranda?” confused, she begs me to calm down.
“Okay, okay.” I take a deep breath. “He’s dead Nicole. My Dad’s dead.” the silence which follows is deafening. When she doesn’t tell me I’m wrong, doesn’t tell me everything’s going to be alright, I break. Tears begin flowing down my cheeks in rivers before I hang up the phone and try to stand. Knees shaking, I watch my aunt drive by racing up the driveway to her dead brother’s aid, and to comfort her mother.
“Go down to the house, you don’t need to be here right now!” she calls out the window to me. Numb, I walk to her house and sit on the porch.
“Miranda?” My cousin Mike steps out and lets me into the house. Heart aching I walk to the couch and fall to pieces. My heart bleeds and my tears flow and I ramble to him incessantly about being afraid. Afraid of my mother, afraid of life without a father to turn to, afraid of myself, afraid of this pain. So afraid.
Hours pass. The cops come. The medics pronounce him, and then take his body from us. Putting my father in a bag and walking out the door with his body. My aunt was right when she said I didn’t want to be here for this, but I came back anyways. Everything was a blur, a horrible, violently painful blur of emotion. “I’m going to bed.” Climbing the stairs and fleeing from everyone in Granny’s living room. ‘A living room filled with death, how ironic’ I think with a morbid smirk on my face. It’s the first time I’ve smiled in hours.
Utterly exhausted, I collapse into the bed, pulling familiar smelling and soft blankets up and around my face. I suck in their scent, immediately feeling half asleep and drifting through the cloudy world between dreams and reality. “Hey baby, how are you?” Brenda’s voice is soft in my ears and I smile lightly.
“Sleepy.” I mumble back. The world is becoming fuzzy and I feel as if it’s a dream. We talk, but the all the words are unregistered in my clouded mind. Sleep is near.
The events from that day play through my head over and over again. We’ve been talking for hours and he’s tired. “Time to take a nap,” he says with a smile, “I love you.” I hop up and hug him tightly. “I love you, too, Daddy.” Padding slowly towards the bottom of the stairs I wave goodnight to him and ascend to the room that I’m now laying in, sleep-like and smiling. I tell myself that everything was a dream. The whole day was nothing but another nightmare, another dreadful figment of my imagination. When I woke up it would all be alright. My father would be sitting at the table and he’d be alive. He’d be just fine. I smiled a little as I drifted off to sleep, lost in my euphoria.
But everything was not fine. I awoke the next morning and had to face reality, my heart sinking to the ground as it had the day before. I was shattered into a million pieces that would never be put back together, at least not in the right ways; and I’ve never be the same.