You must login to vote
Summary: Tacey has to write a paper for school about what kind of relationship she and her father has. But the problem is that they don't even really know each other.
My Father and I
Tacey Williams sat in front of her computer trying to type up one of the many assignments that had been given to her for school.
She was supposed to write about what kind of relationship she and her father had. Ordinarily she was good at writing. This assignment should have been easy for her, but for once she couldn't think of a single thing to say. The problem was that she wasn't sure what kind of relationship she and her father shared, or even if they had one at all!
Tacey sighed and glanced over her shoulder to look at the sleeping form of her father on the living room sofa that sat in the next room.
Maybe she should just write about what type of relationship she would like to have, since they didn't really have one at all.
She frowned and ran long, clumsy fingers through her limp, brown hair. Maybe if she had been prettier, her father would have spent more time with her when she was younger.
Tacey got up and walked to the bathroom, stepped in and scowled ferociously at her reflection in the mirror.
"Limp, brown hair, long, clumsy fingers. My mouth is too small, I'm too tall and I have pimples all over my face." She said listing all of the things she thought might be wrong with her, "I'm too pasty, and I have ragged fingernails. Maybe if I wore makeup I would look better, but
I'm not allowed to. I'm fourteen and too young, or so says dad, even though all the girls at my school, some much younger than myself, wear makeup all the time." She sighed dejectedly, "I'm the only one who doesn't.
"Maybe if I changed the style of clothes I wear." She looked down at herself and examined her brown, button down shirt and the plain, blue jeans that she wore. She wiggled her bare toes and then slapped them down on the cold linoleum floor. "But I don't really need any new clothes, dad won't bother buying me any unless I really need them anyway."
In the hall, the old grandfather clock let her know that is was now four o' clock in the afternoon.
BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! Announced the clock shrilly.
Tacey threw one last angry glance at the mirror before going back to her computer.
She plopped back down on the hard computer chair and slowly whispered, "My father and I," She paused for a moment, "have a good relationship?"
"My father and I are great friends?"
"My father and I . . ."
She looked up from what she was doing and froze as her father stirred on the sofa in the next room. She didn't know why she felt that if he woke up now and saw what she was working on he
would be angry.
"I'll come back to this later." She said turning off her computer, the house almost went completely dark as the only light (Her computer) was turned off. A sliver of sunlight escaped the dark draperies that hung over the three large windows in the room.
The television in the next room quietly murmured to itself, "Today there was another drive by shooting. Locals say that---"
Tacey ignored the television and walked into the kitchen. It was just about as dark there as it was in the rest of the house. Dark draperies covered the windows there as well. "I always thought kitchens were supposed to be bright, cheerful places." She said sarcastically to her self.
She flipped on the light switch on the wall to turn on the ceiling light, not that it would do much good, it barely cut through the darkness in the room. She looked around tempted to open one of the draperies to let in more light, but before she could be tempted by the thought any longer, (she knew all too well that her father didn't want them open) she turned to the refrigerator
and opened it.
"What to make for supper?" She asked quietly to no one in particular. She pulled out the leftover hamburger helper from the night before and placed it in the microwave to reheat for a few minutes.
She sat down at the kitchen table and finished the last of her homework, except the paper about what type of relationship she had with her father. That would wait until after he had left for work.
Her father walked out into the kitchen and looked around with unfocused eyes.
"Supper's almost ready dad." Tacey said, almost pleading.
"Eat without me," he said not even looking at her.
Tacey gulped, "Are you sure?"
"Yes I'm sure! Why don't you ever listen to me?" He asked bitterly, at last looking at her with mirth in his eyes.
"I'm sorry dad." She murmured.
He snorted, turned and started to walk away.
"Dad!" She called in an almost panicked voice. He stopped, but didn't turn to face her, "Are you leaving for work now?"
"Yes." He said once more starting to walk away
"What is it now?" He asked impatiently harsh.
Tacey didn't back down. She wasn't going to back down again, not this time! She swallowed hard, nearly choking on her saliva, "There's a father, daughter dance at my school next week.
Will you come with me?"
Her father's shoulders stiffened slightly, before he said in a slow even voice, still never facing her, "I don't have the time for such ridiculous things, and neither do you. I forbid you to go." Saying that he pulled his jacket from the hall closet and walked out the door to his car.
Tacey slumped back in the chair she was sitting in. A lone tear slid down her face. She took a deep shuddering breath before slowly letting it out again. She spoke in the high voice of a lonely little child left alone in a dark place. "My father and I are strangers."
Behind her the microwave beeped, and then all went silent.
Live like He's coming back today.