Looking back I was naive to think the perfect family existed. It wasn't anything like movies on that feel-good channel where the parents are kind, understanding, and patient. The children are perfect and when thrust into a bad situation it's okay because everything works out in the end.
Everything is portrayed perfectly with a typical suburban family experiencing minimal problems living life blissfully. The formula for those "Happy Family" movies are always the same. The family lives happily ever after. So why couldn't the same be applied to mine?
I was the only child of Marcus and Yvonne Grey. My mother was an upcoming model at the time getting contracted by a popular fashion magazine and my father was a geologist. When I was 5, mom would take me to shows and sometimes I got to walk the runway with her all dressed up. I felt like a princess in a grand castle with specially made dresses for me by the elves. Using the finest fabrics and threads it made me feel special.
My father was busy studying the earth, learning about volcanoes and exploring caverns. Whenever he came home he brought a pretty new stone discovered during his adventures. He made up a story for each one including far off magical lands with dragons and wizards, or magic crystals harboring the power to make the earth grow new life in the barest of lands. I loved his stories and as a special gift for my birthday each year he gave me the most unique one he could find. It was always wrapped nicely in a small box with a new story about it and a picture of him in the area it was found. It comforted me and I felt less alone knowing he was still thinking of me while he was away. I couldn't go with my dad much unless it was close to home. I had to be on my best behavior not to get in the way so I made sure to keep myself busy.
My mom eventually stopped taking me with her. "I'm busy, maybe next time.." she'd say. Next time never came. My mother and I used to be so close. She grew distant and would yell at me over the smallest things. We used to talk about everything together and it made me cry more than once thinking it was somehow my fault. My father would cheer me up with a story and make the tears go away. He reassured me that I wasn't to blame.
She, however, continued to make me feel like a bad daughter. She and dad would argue over what was best for me. I had to do this, stop that, and she didn't like him filling my head with things that weren't real. I remember shutting my bedroom door, grabbing Mr. F, and hiding in the closet choking back the tears. The F stood for fancy as Mr. F was a frog plush that wore a gentleman's coat and had a small top hat that hung in front of his face. It became that way due to the constant squeezing. I buried my face into his hat so much the stitching became loose and it fell off a few times. My dad always fixed it though. He told me that sometimes things fall apart, but they can always be fixed. There is nothing out there that can't be fixed. I wish that was true.
My aunt and uncle would babysit me while my parents were away. Aunt Laura was my dad's sister, she made cooking videos online and was quite successful from it. She became a second mother to me when mine pulled away. She was married to Damian, a game buff that worked at a top gaming company as a coder. They would take me on trips to the aquarium, bookstore, to see movies, we did lots together. They lived in this 1-story home with 3 bedrooms located in St. Louis Missouri with their 2 floofy huskies named Chopper and Mira. Chopper was very hyper getting into all sorts of trouble and Mira got jealous when she didn't get pats on the head. Laura had a greenhouse in the backyard. "My secret garden" she called it. It was well kept, she taught me about plants and which ones are good to eat. The front yard had blueberry bushes and a giant tree with yellow leaves that covered the entryway. It was a small gray painted house with a forest green door. It had a golden doorknob with 3 square windows lining the top. The knocker was also gold and shaped like an apple with a single leaf fluttering up to the right. The doormat said "get lost" in bold white lettering against the black texture. Both of them enjoyed their privacy and did not care for solicitors. I stayed with them so much over the years that it became a permanent home and I needed my own bedroom because I couldn't keep making a sleeping fort out of the couch.
Eventually, my father switched to a desk job within the company so we could live together again. I was 12 when he surprised me with this news and remember how much I cried that night because we could be a family again. We moved into a new apartment together that was about an hour and a half away in Oak Grove. I was sad to go and gave Chopper and Mira the biggest hug before leaving. Dad later said I could get a pet, but the 3-story apartment complex we were moving into had a strict no pet policy.
Our new home had a beautiful view of the sunset from the balcony. The bright light pierced through the curtains into the living room almost every evening. It was a 2-bedroom unit with the master bedroom straight down the hall to the left of the front door. Mine was to the right about halfway through with the bathroom right across. The window in my room was decently sized overlooking the complex parking lot. Wasn't the best view, but it was nice during rainy days. Those days where the clouds were really dark were my favorite. Standing in the doorway the living room was in the center with the balcony to the right. It had a single sliding-glass door leading outside. Behind the living room was the kitchen and dining room. We didn't have a dinner table there so dad turned it into an office corner.
It made me happy seeing dad and feeling like a family again. His love for going out in the field never went away. He started taking field jobs once I turned 15, aunt Laura would come over or I would go visit them. It didn't bother me as much anymore that dad was gone for weeks at a time. I was happy he was able to keep doing what he loved and didn't abandon me like my mother. I never heard from her again or knew what became of her. Dad didn't know or wouldn't tell me no matter how many times I asked. I won't lie that it made me sad she left us like that. Eventually, I gave up on the subject seeing how much it upset him. I buried these feelings of abandonment and hatred towards her deep down for leaving us.
Time waits for no one and I wanted to move on to new and better things. I finished high school, made best friends, fell in love with a boy named Jacob and worked on developing my skills to become a writer. I was so inspired by my father's stories I wanted to create so many of my own. I had a plan. Apply for the college collective writer's contest. It granted the winner a full scholarship to a college of their choosing. I would go on to write my own stories with this experience and become a successful author sharing my vision with the world. It was my absolute dream to write into existence the most magical worlds and capture the hearts of readers with fantasy.
I almost made the deadline too..
Dad got sick during one his field trips causing him to become bed ridden in the hospital. They claimed it was the heat or weather that put him in a coma for a month and a half. I was so afraid of losing him, I broke down crying many times. My best friends Angie and Becca helped me get through many breakdowns. I felt detached from everything around me even my boyfriend Jacob when there seemed to be no hope for my father to regain consciousness.
I just wanted to be alone...
I felt I needed to be alone and hide away from everyone. I visited dad almost everyday then. Needing something to take my mind off of negative thoughts I applied for jobs to save for new stuff and college just in case that scholarship program didn't come around again. The college I wanted to attend was in Seattle. It was going to take a lot of money to move as it is quite expensive there. This scholarship would've given me the head start I was hoping for, but the fear over losing my dad left me unable to write. I fell into a depression and barely went out with my friends or spoke to Jacob much. I started reading books all the time to take my mind off the present when I was not at work. Maybe it could spark some inspiration and get the gears in my head turning again. Maybe there was a situation similar to mine where things worked out. Like those movies I used to watch.
The answer came quickly not long after getting off work a week later. I let out a sigh of relief when listening to a voicemail the hospital had left. He finally woke up. Life went back to normal as if nothing happened after that. Dad had to take it easy for a year and was only able to work from home so he could be monitored. By the time he was ready to go out and do field work again it was nearing the end of summer in 2021. My 18th birthday was coming up and I didn't know what I wanted to do anymore. To spend more time with my dad I ended up not going to college. At some point I abandoned writing and was so absorbed with working that going to school no longer seemed to be an option. The motivation to write left me. My dreams were left on a curb that day waiting to be picked up again.
I continued to read and discover new stories so I began to collect many books and grew into a small library. Filled with fantasy novels, romance, comics, books about nature and plants, learning about the moon. A little bit of everything...well almost. It was fun to read other people's stories, experiences, and knowledge. I took a step back and was reminded why I wanted to write in the first place. Pressing the power button on my sticker-studded laptop, I quickly opened a blank document and began typing. I must have been possessed that night. My hands were gliding over the keyboard as if being guided by someone else. This was it, my inspiration and motivation to create was coming back to me. Dad could see the sparkle in my eyes as I spent many nights in my room plotting, organizing my thoughts, and creating a new world from scratch.
A knock came at my bedroom door one Sunday evening. Without looking up my father stood in the doorway as he always had before. He came to check up on me and see how my story was progressing. That was not the only reason he came by so formally. Dad always had this tell when he had something important to say. Waiting in the doorway until I stopped whatever I was doing to give him my attention. What he said was more of telling rather than asking and I wish I expressed more concern and told him not to go.