Day one by Musa

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
I'm letting go

Submitted: June 08, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 08, 2011



It’s been a week and I haven’t showered and I’m not into baths, No you won’t find me in the tub, watching my dying skin.  My father has left earth, for a universe unknown. Someone told me but I never looked up and said, “That’s not your father in there, that’s just a shell, the man you know is on his way home.  The doctors told me what killed him will one day kill me, with that said a small smile was all I could afford, and pour a whole bottle down my throat.
I have a girlfriend I think. I don’t want her to see me like that. She came over the house to check on me. I parked my car a few blocks away, so I could give the illusion I’m not home. I’m convince most people know I’m in here. I live in a glass house, rarely closing my shades.
I don’t know if I just need to be alone. I don’t know if this is the right reaction. I’m a man, this day was plan, and so than why do I feel this way. I just lost my best friend.
I know if he was alive today, he wouldn’t want to see me like this. It’s easier to hide now that he’s not around. It’s easier now to be myself, a man who has lost every war with himself.
I need a hug, but where is it going to come from? I need insurance. I don’t know how to explain it, but how I’m going to live without him.
Have you ever had someone in you life that was sowed in your fabric? I can’t smile without the thought of dad. He told me, “Jeff that smiles is what’s getting you in trouble the ladies all the time, you can’t lie.” He was right I’m not a good liar, breaks up was always better on the phone for me. In person, they could see my intention, women could always see right through me.
Someone tell me, I’m never going to play catch again with him. He was too old to throw around a football, but when he did play football we use to call him, “Tank.” Well that’s what he called himself until it caught on. Once he had the ball, son or not, he would run right over you. But what I liked to do most with him was play catch. The game was simply, we could play in our yard, any where. He wore this beat up hat with image of a turtle on it. When I asked, why a turtle, he’s only response was, “Take your time.” Another thing I liked about playing catch with him was, anything we could get our hands on we would throw.
I don’t think I was good at any sports but he never cared. He wasn’t one of those fathers’s that push to be something you were not. He was ok with me losing the game. When I lost a game on the field at home I left like a winner. He would make me some hot coco and sit down for official business. What we talked about at times had nothing to do with the game, football or baseball. He was more interested about what I thought the hot chocolate. He would say, “ I didn’t put sugar is that alright?”
I left like my father spoke to me as an equal and not as a child. When he made big decision, he wanted my opinion. I remember when he brought his first home he said, “Son, listen Jeffery this might be the biggest decision I ever make besides having you and I need your input. If you tell me this is not the house for us, than I’ll understand. I know you will be moving away from your friends and having to change school, I only want the best for us both.” We moved in two months afterwards.
He saved every minute he could at the same time making sure there was always enough to eat. He was always making sacrifices for me, no woman was ever good enough to replace mom. I knew he wanted to be happy, but I just wanted to be selfish just a little bit longer. I knew there was no way to raise mom from the dead. I knew she smiled, a tear, she said, “I loved you, momma has to go to sleep” mommy been sleeping for a long time now. I woke up one day and realize it was time to let go. I step aside and allowed daddy to love again. Daddy never loved like he love momma, the smile that use to be on his face, when the wind walk in the room, I never saw again.
I was never there for my dad like he was there for me; all I knew was how to be a child. I knew how to smile and ask, “Give me.” Once women starting their coup, I felt like I was always fighting for attention, and in the end I always won, and restore peace.
Day one
Day one wasn’t that bad, everybody who saw me thought I toke my dad’s death pretty good. I was smiling with everyone I could find. I was making small conversation, shared my thought about what I’m going to do with my father old home. I told most people I would sell my dads first home and rent out the rest of his houses. I still used his homes because I never owned anything my father didn’t give me. It seems like I had everything under control. My financial adviser was at the funeral and said not a word to me. He knew my father before he knew me; they knew women before I knew earth. My Adviser, My father’s friend, knows my heart, there’s no way I can sell my dad first home.
 Before I locked myself away in solitude, I paid a visit to my dad’s old home. There was still my hand writing on some of the outside walls. Don’t know what I saw thinking; I got a marker one day and decided to write my name on the wall. I never got in trouble for doing that and he never erases it. After all these years it could have been so easy, a coat of paint and delete. Once in the house, I knew what my adviser, my father’s friend saw, I can’t escape this place.
I don’t know what I’m going to do; I just didn’t want to think anymore.  I thought what I’d is I’d pretend I was one of those death-mutes

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