The Kids Aren’t Alright
Heather knew she needed answers that could only come from her parents. Her mother would resist more than her father because of her need to uphold an image so she headed to her dad’s house. He had tried to tell Heather something for years but she ignored him, chalking up his rants to the confused garbles of a drunk. She ignored his books and listened to his stories more for entertainment value than because she believed his claims. He hadn’t been a perfect father but his goal had always been to protect his daughters so she knew he would help her. Her dad would disclose everything if it meant helping his daughters.
Heather dropped Jade off at Erin’s with rambling explanations and promises to be back soon. She recited the words she planned to use but found herself deleting one idea after another from a fear he would call 911. Heather kept an eye open for anything out of the ordinary and started getting dizzy from the paranoia overload. Her steady stare into the rearview mirror wavered only long enough to prevent herself from smashing into the trucks who shared the road with her. She pulled up in front of her father’s house and saw his car parked was parked in its spot just as she knew it would be.
Heather pulled into his parking lot and threw the gear into park before completely stopping. She looked through the windshield and out the back window like a rabid animal and then jumped out quickly. In her run to his door, she forgot to gage her speed again and rammed into it the oak door quite hard. She steadied herself before another injury claimed her healthy eye.
As she banged on the door, Heather kept her cheek against the door frame. He couldn’t open it fast enough for her and she started to feel the fear that now reigned in her nervous system. She rested her weight against the door and when it opened, fell inside. Heather lay on the tile and looked up at her nervous and confused father without a word.
She noticed his eyes filling with more concern each moment. He picked her up by her elbow and guided her gently to the couch. Sensing the danger that had followed his daughter, David quickly closed the door and led her to the couch. He sat her down and put a protective arm around her shoulders. Within seconds, Heather was sobbing uncontrollably. She noticed a half empty beer in front of his spot during their embrace but didn’t say anything about it. It wasn’t her place; it never had been.
She nuzzled her face into the muscle of his left arm and tried to force herself to stop crying but the tears just kept coming. He held her quietly and didn’t ask any questions. She knew he was letting her choose her own words and trying to figure out her own way of telling him what she wanted to tell him.
Heather felt as if she could cry for an eternity but she knew she didn’t have the time for that luxury. There would be time for her grief later if she found a way to fix everything. When she finally pulled away from her father, she looked at the wet sleeve she left behind and stared at him with rising desperation and dwindling hope.
“You need answers,” he said firmly.
“Yes.” Heather sniffled.
“Start with what happened to us when we were little, Dad. Who hurt us? Please tell the truth. You don’t understand what’s happening,” she rushed.
Heather glanced over at his bookshelf and felt the guilt trying to tug at her. Thick manuals on out of body experiences, reincarnation and the Mayans took up several hundred square feet. He had been trying to give her answers all along and she had blocked him out.
She saw his expression falter and could sense his composure starting to crumble. When he spoke, his voice cracked.
“I’ve always told you that you would grow to realize your importance one day,” he started.
“Yes,” she confirmed.
He had done more than that. Her father had complimented her so much and had filled her with such a sense of self-importance that she believed he was solely responsible for her narcissism. He had gone beyond normal bolstering when he convinced her that her significance was greater than the world she lived in. Heather had always wondered in the back of her mind if he were trying to tell her she was witch or an alien or better yet, an angel. In the absence of real information, she couldn’t stop her imagination from supplying its own data because in the end, he never really said much of an