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Help (Page 5)
by Alisha
 More of this Feature
• Page 1: Running
• Page 2: Her Father
• Page 3: Seeing Her Father
• Page 4: Event at School
• Page 5
: Back at Home

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On October 23, the phone rang, yet again saying that my father was let out of jail early on a count of his good behavior. As I slid off one of Gina's dresses, I felt happy and sad all at the same time. I wanted my father to be a changed man, but in my heart i wasn't all that sure of it.

At first things were awkward, but we got to know one another again. It was like when mom was alive. Dad wasn't drinking. He bought me a dress, a yellow one, just like the one that Gina had, the one he saw me wearing when I came to visit him in the county jail.

The house was all neatness up by now, it took my dad, Cindy, and I almost a week to clean it up. Now light actually came through the gray and white curtains. Dad let Gina sleep over last friday night, it took me two hours to convince Mr. and Mrs. Powell that my dad was fine and sober now. In school, things went back to normal, no more questions, or gawking, just good old fashioned learning.

Dad started dating two months after he came back. His first girl friend was Mrs. Sheila May. She was Mrs. Teen America in 1982. She was beautiful. I wanted to look and be just like her.

She had long, perfect, blonde hair, and fair, but nicely colored skin. She had green eyes that shimmered like she owned the world, and you'd think that maybe she did. At first I thought why would Mrs. Sheila May want to date my dad, but I knew why. Mom had told me about her.

In High School Sheila wanted to "go steady" with my dad, but he was so in love with mom that no matter how gorgeous Sheila might have been, he wasn't interested. I guess that it was time for him to move on, but I almost hated Sheila for taking my dad, but it made my dad happy.

On their second date Sheila was to come over and make us all dinner at the house. She brought a bag of groceries that contained spaghetti and two long pieces of french bread, and a bottle of wine.

My dad took the wine, opened the top, and just when I thought that he might chug the whole bottle he poured it down the sink. That was the last of Mrs. Sheila May.

His next girlfriend was tough. She wore a mini black skirt and a black tank top that was a tummy shirt. Her hair was black as night, down, and naturally curled. She had big brown eyes, and she wore big hoop earrings that made her ears sag. I thought that she looked like a prostitute. So did dad.

Then his friend, Earl, who works with him, had a niece, and said that she was to die for. So he set the two up on a blind date. The door rang and dad was still straightening his tie. I ran over to the door, and I slowly creaked it open. I was scared of who might be out there. My thoughts were right.

"Hello sweetie, is your father home??" It looked like mom, it was mom. "Ummm mom??" Oh no! Did I do just day that??

"What?? No, you must be Miraculous, what a wonderful name."

I walked her in, showed her to the sitting room, and I told dad that she was there, he asked if she was decent and the only words I knew to describe her were,"dad, she's a piece of art, a real piece of art."

He gave me a look and he told me that he'd be ot in a few. I sat there on the couch across from her. We chatted, her name was Christina Banks, and she was 32, and just came home for the week.

She's an accountant in New York, which she hates, and has a little boy named Michael, about my age. She went on and on. But I couldn't stop thinking "MOM". Her hair was golden brown just like moms, her eyes blue, heavy and sparkled. She was thin. She was wearing a pink and purple skirt with jewels along the bottom and a white V-neck.

"Hello, I'm dad, I mean I'm..." he stopped, staring at Christina for a while, when I couldn't help but say "Eric, and you two have fun now", and shove them out of the door. Dad came home around ten that night when he said that he'd be back at nine. He couldn't stop talking about her. but he had a very confused look in his eyes. The next morning dad was still sleeping, and it was 11:00 a.m. Dad never missed church now, but he did today. He slept all throughout sunday. He finally woke up around 7:00 p.m. and was holding a bottle of liquor.

Utoh. I thought this over and over. He didn't say anything, just walked towards the fridge. "Dad, are you..." It was silent for a moment. I didn't know what else to say, so I waited. "SHUT UP!" He said it with such anger, such force.

He was drunk, he couldn't be drunk! Not anymore, I thought that he had changed. What had happened? What drove him so crazy that made him want to drink? Was it Christina Banks?

But he had such a wonderful time with her. "Dad....." I tried again. But the replay I got, was not English, not anything, it was an act of moment, he charged. He was going to charge at me, so I quickly hopped out of the way. He fell on his face, and I saw the anger start to rise within him.

That was a bright idea Mira. He got up slowly, his eyes glared at me, I held on strong, I felt as if it was a battle between father and daughter? No. Between right and wrong. When he finally reached his feet he wobbled down the hall, he passed me, without a hit, or slap, nothing.

So here I am, thinking that he had realized he was drunk. I let him wobble down the halls some more. I walked into the kitchen holding the phone. I knew that I would have to call his therapist and tell him the whole story, but I decided to wait until he had passed out.

All of a sudden I heard a scream, a cry for help. A helpless child was screaming for their life. I ran all around searching. And that's when I reached Cindy's room, she was all curled up on the floor. Mangled. Hopeless. Breathless.

Over Cindy crouched my father. He was holding his hands, and he started to cry for everything he had ever wanted to cry for. I picked up Cindy. She dangled over my shoulder, and I started to run. I ran, and ran. I ran until I found someone. Sirens roared. Hope was lost. I was lost.

Cindy's funeral was on Tuesday, November 6, two days after she left us. There were roses everywhere, all different kinds. She is an angel now. Soaring above me. If only I could have helped her. If only that were me.

My father left the day Cindy got her wings. I never heard from him again. I didn't want to, I didn't care. It didn't matter.

The End. ~Alisha (age 15)

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