The Montoya's

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Flash back's from when she was only 12, keep haunting her, she can't move on from the past, always mourning and suffering in silence. untill she decides to confess every bit of immorality she has commited. and decides to focus on everything she has lost. can she ever be happy?

Submitted: April 18, 2012

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Submitted: April 18, 2012



Releasing a heavy scent of Bud light and tobacco, His words are a comfort. Clasping His silver pocket watch in his left hand, and tucking me into bed with the right; I knew this night was rare within my household.  Inhaling as much of his sweet scent as I can, because it feels so new to me and every time I smell it, I know he’s close. He’s feeding me lies and pretentious theories of how he will never leave me; but he lied.

He’s tall well taller than me at least, standing 6’ 1 dark skinned  and dark brown eyes, that make him look Puerto Rican.  He has that mischievous smile, that’s not quite a smirk and not quite a frown; but it makes you want to smile bigger than the Cheshire cat . His voice echoes through the house shaking it like thunder, when he kisses my cheek, his black mustache scrapes along my face; but to me it’s the softest feeling in the world. 

I notice that he always carries the silver pocket watch; I got him for Father’s Day. It’s so silver it almost looks chrome; the thick chain hangs from his jean pockets. And makes a “clink” sound every time he walks, seeing him wear it makes me feel prideful and I can always feel a smug grin pulling at the sides of my lips.

He comes home drunk every night, taking big swaggering steps towards the kitchen, to grab yet another can of Beer.  He looks at me apologetically seeing the disappointment across my face. I know he’s sorry for being this way, screaming for help on the inside and losing himself on the out.  I sit on his lap with a frown on my face that no one could take off. He begins to cry and looks at me with pain in his big brown eyes.

“I’m sorry Lulu.” He says. And I look at him bewildered thoughts racing through my mind, I was confused. He holds my chin up so our eyes meet and I can feel his frustration

“Why do you love me?” he asks with sadness in his voice. It’s not a common thing to ask a twelve year old; but I was used to it. For some reason he didn’t think anyone loved him because of his behavior, I couldn’t speak for anyone else but I knew I loved him more than life its self. 

“Dad, I don’t care what anyone says or thinks!” I shout. “You’re the only I look up too, you believe in my impossible dreams; we don’t need anyone in this world but each other.”  I say trying to convince him of my truth. I grab the watch out of his checkered blue coat pocket, holding it close to his face.

“This watch is yours pops; I gave it to a champion.” I say “you’re a fighter and I am so proud of you, you’re the only person who believes that I’m somebody!” I look at him tears beginning to flood my face. He smiles and begins to sing “My Girl” By the Temptations, his voice is deep but soothing to hear,  he always sing’s that song to me when he’s happy and when the whole world seems against him. Because he knows I’ll always be there helping him fight.

It’s Friday and so I know he will come home tonight to watch the fights on TV, It’s a ritual at my house. Every Friday he comes over he never fails to show,  but something’s wrong about tonight because it’s already 7:00 and the fights started an hour ago. So here I am looking out the window every five minutes; asking my mom where he’s at. And then the phone rings I’m the first to answer it, It’s him and he sounds odd I can barely understand what he’s saying but I do hear the words “ I love you” Before I hear the “click” on the other end.

 I lay on my mother’s bed sobbing, my hearts completely broken  he has never missed a Friday in my entire life. I can’t sleep I’m restless and anxious; as soon as the sun rises I jump out of bed and call him immediately. His friend Jordan answers, we keep playing mind games back and forth; where’s my dad?  No answer or he’s gone, and I don’t understand what he means. When I ask a tenth time he simply chokes out. “He never woke up.” And I began to scream hysterically, tears flood my eyes and I’m hitting every wall in the house. And then my mother talks to Jordan and she starts crying.

Hours pass but it feels like minutes dragging, and when we hear a knock at the door.

I stop breathing, “Daddy?!” I yell at the top of my lungs. My mom holds me back, restraining me; whispering “He’s gone lulu.” But I don’t listen. Because I thought she was lying. 

My uncle opens the door, and disappointment takes over me.  It’s a cop He brings a bag filled with what my dad had in his pockets the night he died. I see the silver pocket watch, at the bottom; my mom slips the watch into my hands and I hold it close to my heart. 

The watch is warm against my skin; I’m holding it so tightly that a pattern begins to indent on my chest. I swallow hard and convince myself that everything will get better in time, my mom goes to the stereo and plays “my girl” I know she’s trying to comfort my enraged soul; but it only reminds me of the huge missing chunks of life, that has been sucked away.

I hold the watch close to my face and every memory I ever had of him remains in my reflection, I sigh looking at his picture in the left corner of my room; and I begin to sing “my girl.” 

I think about him constantly, the memory is all i have left; i focus on it so much my hair has begun to turn white and my eyes have dark shadows. i sulk in the darkness and i learn to accept that death is very common, why does it have to be common for me?

i have tried to erase my past to forget him but i can't. it's not that i want to be a bitch and say hey dad i don't want to think about you ever again because it hurts to much. killing myself is a better solution to everything or so it seems now, but i can't see you with pain in your eyes, you didn't raise a quitter.



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