Sequel: Guilty Feet Have Got No Rhythm ›
Just One of the Boys
Chapter 13
*Flash Back*
July 7, 1996, I was ten years old. My dad had promised me a bike ride earlier in the week, and I was going to hold him to it. He had just gotten back from a business trip that had lasted one week, and I had missed him like crazy. My dad was my world, he was everything to me, he was my best friend and my favorite person next to my mom.
Grinning, I had tossed the blankets off and sprinted down the hall towards the master bedroom. “DAD!” I screamed, jumping on the bigger lump.
“Austin, Holly wants you,” my mother murmured sleepily before rolling back over. Dad groaned, trying to shake me off.
“Yes, Holly-Bolly?” he yawned, using my special nickname.
“You promised me a bike ride!” I giggled, bouncing up and down on his chest. He coughed, groaning from the weight.
“What time is it?” He cracked one eye open, fumbling around for the alarm clock. “Come back at eight-thirty, okay?”
“But why?” I whined, pouting with m best puppy dog eyes.
“Because, sweetie-pie, it’s six o’clock and Daddy wants to sleep. Go bother your mother.” He picked my up and dumped me on top of her.
“Austin!” my mother laughed as I rolled onto her. “Way to throw me under the bus!”
“I wanna a bike ride!” I commanded, tossing my arms around her. “Please!”
“Austin, you promised her,” my mother interfered, sitting up and holding me close. “She really missed you when you were gone.”
“And I missed her, but I also missed my sleep,” he groaned.
“Austin, get up now.” With a light smack on his chest, my father finally opened his light blue eyes, glaring at her.
“Alright, I’m awake,” he sighed, leaning over to kiss my mother. “Happy now, darlings?”
“Very,” we answered together. He clambered out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom. Giggling, my mother and I cuddled together, my head rested against her chest. She slowly rocked me back and forth, her face pressed to my hair.
“I love you Holly,” she whispered, kissing the top of my head.
“I love you too, Mom,” I had replied, closing my eyes and breathing in her faint scent of Channel Number 5 perfume and herbal shampoo. I reached a hand up, holding the necklace she always wore.
It was simple, a golden basket on a small golden chain. However, it meant the world to my mother seeing as she got it as a wedding present from her father, my grandfather. She had promised me that when I was old enough, I might get one of my own.
As my father got ready, we could hear him singing in his deep, rhythmic voice.“Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone…” he sang, his voice echoing towards us. My mother smiled, humming along with his tune.
After about five minutes, dad walked out, dressed in jeans and an old tee shirt with theAutumn logo on it, a large maple tree with orange leaves on it. Giggling, I crawled out of my mom’s arms and launched myself at him.
Dad picked me up, swinging me around so I was clinging to his back. “Alright, shall we get some pancakes in our bellies before heading out?” he suggested. Laughing, my mother pushed us aside, heading down to our large kitchen to start cooking.
One hour later, both with full stomachs, my mother was quickly braiding my hair back as my father tied his shoelaces. I scrubbed my hand over my mouth, trying to get rid of the sticky syrup remains, staring into the mirror. “Done,” mom sang, tying off the last braid.
“Perfect timing, Emma,” my father grinned, standing up. “Ready to go, Holly-Bolly?”
“Yup!” I cried, turning back to him. My dad bent over my, one hand on my head as he kissed my mother softly.
“I love you, Emma,” he whispered as she grinned happily.
“Love you too, Austin,” she replied before herding us out the door. “Have fun, you two, and be safe, okay?”
“Of course we will,” my dad assured her, opening the door for me, stepping into the blinding sunlight.
“And try to stay away from paparazzi please!” she shouted to our retreating backs. Dad bent his head over, half-carrying me in order to protect me from the flashing lights of the cameras. I was used to this by now, but it was still strange when strangers knew who I was, but I didn’t know them.
Ignoring their shouts and questions, Dad dragged my bike and helmet out from the side gate, then returned to grab his own. I strapped the helmet on, kicking up the kick stand on my ice blue banana seat bike, a gift from my Uncle Spielberg for my ninth birthday.
“Ready Holls?” he questioned, one leg already swung over his bike. I nodded, letting his go ahead of me. I pedaled after him, grinning at the feel of the wheels underneath me. Even at a young age I loved bikes, loved the feel of gliding on only two wheels.
My dad and I rode to a park, just aimlessly leading each other in random directions. It wasn’t until ten-thirty did it actually happen. My dad gave a little grunt before falling off his bike. I couldn’t brake in time, and I flew over my handle bars, landing on my hands and knees, my skin bruised and bloody.
“Ow!” I wailed, leaning back onto my bottom. My bottom lip wobbled as tears blurred my vision of the pavement. “Ow, Dad!”
I turned around, to find my dad deathly pale, gasping for breath. “Dad? Dad!” I screamed, stumbling to where he lay, trying to get him to stop. “Dad!” I remember placing my hands on his chest, because he had tiny spots of blood from my cuts on his shirt, the shirt that I kept under my pillow for five years, the one I now have stashed away in my bag. It was--is--my security blanket, one of the reminders of my father. One of his hands came up to cup my face as my father’s lips parted.
“Love…you…” he rasped. “And…Em…” The hand dropped as his eyes closed, the sirens of the paramedics slicing open the still morning air.
The rest was a blur of tears and strange faces as someone had heard my screams and called 9-1-1. The ride to the ambulance seemed to last for seconds, seeing as one minute I was leaning over m father and screaming, while the next my mother was clutching, sobbing into my shoulder in the hospital room.
My father had died before my eyes, all because I wanted a bike ride. Maybe if I hadn’t begged him for one, or if I had just waited for him to wake up, then he would have gotten to the hospital faster, and my dad would still be alive. Maybe if his heart had been stronger, then the heart attack wouldn’t have occurred. But it did, and I lost my dad, all because of a promise, one that I desperatly wish he had never fulfilled...
July 7, 1996, I was ten years old. My dad had promised me a bike ride earlier in the week, and I was going to hold him to it. He had just gotten back from a business trip that had lasted one week, and I had missed him like crazy. My dad was my world, he was everything to me, he was my best friend and my favorite person next to my mom.
Grinning, I had tossed the blankets off and sprinted down the hall towards the master bedroom. “DAD!” I screamed, jumping on the bigger lump.
“Austin, Holly wants you,” my mother murmured sleepily before rolling back over. Dad groaned, trying to shake me off.
“Yes, Holly-Bolly?” he yawned, using my special nickname.
“You promised me a bike ride!” I giggled, bouncing up and down on his chest. He coughed, groaning from the weight.
“What time is it?” He cracked one eye open, fumbling around for the alarm clock. “Come back at eight-thirty, okay?”
“But why?” I whined, pouting with m best puppy dog eyes.
“Because, sweetie-pie, it’s six o’clock and Daddy wants to sleep. Go bother your mother.” He picked my up and dumped me on top of her.
“Austin!” my mother laughed as I rolled onto her. “Way to throw me under the bus!”
“I wanna a bike ride!” I commanded, tossing my arms around her. “Please!”
“Austin, you promised her,” my mother interfered, sitting up and holding me close. “She really missed you when you were gone.”
“And I missed her, but I also missed my sleep,” he groaned.
“Austin, get up now.” With a light smack on his chest, my father finally opened his light blue eyes, glaring at her.
“Alright, I’m awake,” he sighed, leaning over to kiss my mother. “Happy now, darlings?”
“Very,” we answered together. He clambered out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom. Giggling, my mother and I cuddled together, my head rested against her chest. She slowly rocked me back and forth, her face pressed to my hair.
“I love you Holly,” she whispered, kissing the top of my head.
“I love you too, Mom,” I had replied, closing my eyes and breathing in her faint scent of Channel Number 5 perfume and herbal shampoo. I reached a hand up, holding the necklace she always wore.
It was simple, a golden basket on a small golden chain. However, it meant the world to my mother seeing as she got it as a wedding present from her father, my grandfather. She had promised me that when I was old enough, I might get one of my own.
As my father got ready, we could hear him singing in his deep, rhythmic voice.“Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone…” he sang, his voice echoing towards us. My mother smiled, humming along with his tune.
After about five minutes, dad walked out, dressed in jeans and an old tee shirt with theAutumn logo on it, a large maple tree with orange leaves on it. Giggling, I crawled out of my mom’s arms and launched myself at him.
Dad picked me up, swinging me around so I was clinging to his back. “Alright, shall we get some pancakes in our bellies before heading out?” he suggested. Laughing, my mother pushed us aside, heading down to our large kitchen to start cooking.
One hour later, both with full stomachs, my mother was quickly braiding my hair back as my father tied his shoelaces. I scrubbed my hand over my mouth, trying to get rid of the sticky syrup remains, staring into the mirror. “Done,” mom sang, tying off the last braid.
“Perfect timing, Emma,” my father grinned, standing up. “Ready to go, Holly-Bolly?”
“Yup!” I cried, turning back to him. My dad bent over my, one hand on my head as he kissed my mother softly.
“I love you, Emma,” he whispered as she grinned happily.
“Love you too, Austin,” she replied before herding us out the door. “Have fun, you two, and be safe, okay?”
“Of course we will,” my dad assured her, opening the door for me, stepping into the blinding sunlight.
“And try to stay away from paparazzi please!” she shouted to our retreating backs. Dad bent his head over, half-carrying me in order to protect me from the flashing lights of the cameras. I was used to this by now, but it was still strange when strangers knew who I was, but I didn’t know them.
Ignoring their shouts and questions, Dad dragged my bike and helmet out from the side gate, then returned to grab his own. I strapped the helmet on, kicking up the kick stand on my ice blue banana seat bike, a gift from my Uncle Spielberg for my ninth birthday.
“Ready Holls?” he questioned, one leg already swung over his bike. I nodded, letting his go ahead of me. I pedaled after him, grinning at the feel of the wheels underneath me. Even at a young age I loved bikes, loved the feel of gliding on only two wheels.
My dad and I rode to a park, just aimlessly leading each other in random directions. It wasn’t until ten-thirty did it actually happen. My dad gave a little grunt before falling off his bike. I couldn’t brake in time, and I flew over my handle bars, landing on my hands and knees, my skin bruised and bloody.
“Ow!” I wailed, leaning back onto my bottom. My bottom lip wobbled as tears blurred my vision of the pavement. “Ow, Dad!”
I turned around, to find my dad deathly pale, gasping for breath. “Dad? Dad!” I screamed, stumbling to where he lay, trying to get him to stop. “Dad!” I remember placing my hands on his chest, because he had tiny spots of blood from my cuts on his shirt, the shirt that I kept under my pillow for five years, the one I now have stashed away in my bag. It was--is--my security blanket, one of the reminders of my father. One of his hands came up to cup my face as my father’s lips parted.
“Love…you…” he rasped. “And…Em…” The hand dropped as his eyes closed, the sirens of the paramedics slicing open the still morning air.
The rest was a blur of tears and strange faces as someone had heard my screams and called 9-1-1. The ride to the ambulance seemed to last for seconds, seeing as one minute I was leaning over m father and screaming, while the next my mother was clutching, sobbing into my shoulder in the hospital room.
My father had died before my eyes, all because I wanted a bike ride. Maybe if I hadn’t begged him for one, or if I had just waited for him to wake up, then he would have gotten to the hospital faster, and my dad would still be alive. Maybe if his heart had been stronger, then the heart attack wouldn’t have occurred. But it did, and I lost my dad, all because of a promise, one that I desperatly wish he had never fulfilled...
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This chapter nearly made me cry when writing it. I'm just an emotional person...I have written a journal about the stories I'm thinking of writing, but I want to know which ones you, the readers, would like to/actually read. Please, you guys, tell me. I want to hear back from you!!!
Also, I'm noticing that I'm lacking in the comment/feedback department. Please, please, PLEASE just tell me, even if it sucked. I really want to hear what you think about it! You can even write and say it sucks, I just need the constructive crittisism!