[Chapter 1]
First of all- and I might as well say it now- I don’t have a father. I have never met him. I don’t know what he looks like, who he is, and honestly, I don’t even know if he’s still alive. I suppose that at one point in my life, I did have a father. Clearly, I couldn’t be here if I didn’t have one. And I know for a fact that at one point in my mother’s life, she did have a husband.
I remember when I was younger, three or four at the most, and I couldn't sleep, I would creep down the hallway in my footie pajamas to my mother's bedroom. The door would be ajar, and I would peer inside. Often when I went to my mother for comfort, she would be sitting in front of the window in her alcove, looking at a wrinkled photograph and spinning her wedding ring around and around on her finger. Sometimes, she would be crying quietly into a pillow. I would slowly back away, not knowing what to make of this and go back to my bedroom. My naïve mind didn’t think too much about it. At that point, I thought nothing of her hushed misery.
On my brother Ethan’s seventeenth birthday, less than two years ago, I arrived home to find him sitting at the kitchen table, looking depressed and holding something in his hands. I begged him to tell me what was wrong. He told me that our mother had told him the truth about my father’s absence, the same story she had told my sister, Emma, one year before. Then he repeated to me a story that contradicted everything I had ever believed about my family and brought me to tears.
My parents met during their sophomore year of college at the university’s student union. She was studying to become a lawyer; my father was a pre-med student. My father was working at the coffee shop to earn some extra cash, having vowed to become more independent from his parents once at college. One day, he was washing a load of dishes when my mother walked in, honey-colored locks streaming behind her in the autumn wind and her cool, gray eyes glinting with joy. My father was instantly struck with cupid’s arrow. His favorite part of the day was when she came in for her afternoon coffee. He begged the baristas to let him make that one drink for her each day. All so that he could hand it to her and say, “Have a beautiful day.” She would smile sweetly, take a sip and return charmingly, “Same to you.”
After weeks of admiring her and dreaming that she would someday be his, my father mustered up the courage to ask her on a date. She said yes before he could even finish speaking. They both knew that it was more than just a casual romance. This was real, destined in the stars, honest to God, sure as anything, true love.
My father was a blue blood from upstate New York. His parents believed that their son deserved only the best. They expected he would graduate top of his medical class, with dozens of job offers at all the best hospitals and a pretty little fiancée to boot. They had no idea that their son wanted nothing to do with their dreams of his cookie cutter life, although he had told them repeatedly that he had no intention of marrying for status or money. Upon meeting my mother, they were horrified to learn that their son had chosen a love interest that was so “modest” and “unique”. What they were trying to say was “poor” and “unworthy”.
Delilah Lopnow, my mother, was born and raised in the small, coastal town, of Sea View, Oregon. It’s located in Coos County, south of North Bend and West of Charleston with a population of 3,087. Right on the Pacific coast, the town has a perfect ten for both beauty and tranquility. Her parents owned a small restaurant next to the beach that served clam chowder and strawberry smoothies to tourists and locals alike. They did their best to raise their daughter to become a gentle and kind young woman with a passion for justice. Just before my parent’s became engaged at the end of their senior year, the restaurant caught fire in a horrible accident and both of them perished.
Hoping to ease the pain of losing her parents, my mother accepted the proposal. Both of my parents knew that they would never love anyone as much as each other and nothing his parents did could keep them apart. They eloped and ran away to my mother’s hometown of Sea View, so that they could be together.
The first few years of marriage were bliss. Money was tight and my mom had to sell the remains of her parent’s house and all of her valuable belongings to help pay the bills. They both picked up jobs and managed to get by on a low income. After three happy years, my mother gave birth to my two older siblings; first my sister, Emma, and then just one year later, my brother, Ethan.
Two years after my brother was born, on the 18th of February, on a dark and rainy afternoon, I was born. And for a short time, we were happy, together.
I had been on this earth for seven days when my father disappeared. One day, we came home to find the house empty, him gone as well as all of his possessions. My mother searched all over town, asking everyone whether they had seen him. It was as if he had evaporated into thin air, completely wiped from the face of the earth.
My mother waited, hoping and wishing that he would come striding back in the door with the same grin that he always wore just for her. The days dragged on, lengthening into weeks and months. After 7 months of agonizing about her regrets, my mother received a letter from my father with four short, yet sharp and precise sentences:
My parent’s were right.
This was a mistake.
I don’t love you.
I’m never coming back.
She took what was left of her family to a new house, with a new name and a new lie to cover up the pain she had suffered.
When Ethan told me that story, I didn’t believe him at first. The story sounded like something from the movies and could not actually happen, especially to our family. Mom had always told me that Dad had died in a car crash when I was just a baby. But with the new story, everything about my mother made sense. The truth gave explanation as to why she never went out, why she had let herself fall into an emotional rut and why she to this day has never dated other men. My mother more than deserved a loving husband, someone who would remain a constant in her life and keep her happy. Doesn’t everyone deserve that? And shouldn’t Ethan, Emma and I have had a father who would always be there for us when the world turned cold? It took me the most time to overcome the horrible sense of worthlessness he had bestowed on his family; how could a person be so cold that they could feel no guilt in throwing away his family?
After learning about the reality, I noticed a change in myself. Before, I was happy and found joy in life. Like my mother, I became quiet, shy and diffident. I was less open around people and wasn’t as eager to let them in. It took me ages to make new friends; the majority of the time I didn’t see the point of sticking with them because they weren’t the people I thought they were. The only two people that I stayed close with were Chelsea Levingston and Sean Devereaux. We had met back in middle school and became friends quickly. They were the two people that I truly felt comfortable around, especially after my personality morphed into a sad remnant of what it once was.
Another aspect that my mother and I grew to share was our singular nature. As I entered high school, I grew used to the environment which was overrun with couples and tear-ridden breakups. Everyone was dating. I had always felt better alone-having seen first hand how love can tear a person apart- but I convinced myself that I was never lonely. I found it impossible that anyone would ever see something worth loving in the twisted wreck I had become. Besides, life was difficult as it was; I didn’t need romance to make it any more challenging.
I didn’t belong there. Or anywhere for that matter.
