Invisible

MY FATHER

 “EMMA, WAKE UP.”

Ever wonder what it’s like to be ignored, to scream what’s wrong, to tell everyone who’s the face of evil, whose lies make up who you really are?

Ever wonder what it’s like to be invisible?

I jump, stare at my grandfather. His eyes look angry, yet sympathetic. It makes me feel sorry for him, spending his life being a father to me when his only child died, when his perfection became his only imperfection. I am his daughter, he is my savior, the only man who will ever see me… Emma Sophia Dawson, the girl without a face, an infection untreated.

The girl that swore to keep her mouth shut just to save a life worth keeping.

“Emma?” Michelle asks, her small, innocent voice causing my throat to burn. I look into the rearview mirror, see her dark brown eyes glisten, tears forming in them.

“Hmm?” I respond, sitting back in the worn passenger seat, my arms folded.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

I close my eyes, fight tears, and I know Michelle is doing the same.

“I don’t either,” I say.

She sighs, slumps into her seat. Michelle is eight. Young, innocent, the most adorable little girl anyone could possibly meet. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with me, can’t analyze the pain that’s in my eyes, can’t see the reason behind it.

I’m not complaining. I don’t want her to see what happened to me.

I watch rain drops glide down the windows. Crystal clear, illustrating the parking lot. Four cars around us, two in the drive thru, two parked in the parking lot. None of them belong to my father, Mark Dawson. I’m not surprised. It’s not like he ever has time for his kids…

Always time for his fiancée, always time for my future step-brother.

“I’m sorry about this,” my grandfather says, “you losing your freedom, I mean. Your mother wouldn’t have wanted this to happen.”

“I’ll be fine,” I lie, trying to wrap myself around the thought of being content with living under the same roof as a man who would believe someone else over his child.

It’s not working. I’m still not happy.

I look out of the window, praying that God will kill me. Rip me from reality, the fact that I have to face hell all over again. Praying never works. Mark’s olive green SUV pulls into the parking lot. My middle name is etched into his license plate. It’s funny because he clearly doesn’t understand the meaning of fatherhood. Parade me around all you want, but it still doesn’t make you my father…

 I step out of the car, grab my duffel bag off of the backseat. Michelle reaches to hug me, and I squeeze her tightly, tell her just how much I love her, how everything’s going to be fine.

Lying to children isn’t fun. I don’t know how Mark gets by with it.

I walk toward Mark’s truck, watch the water that’s streaming around me. Wait for it to pull me away, to get rid of what’s left of me.

I’m still standing here.

My grandfather rolls the passenger side window down. He has so much to say.

“Call me when you get there,” he says, smiling.

I smile back, only for a second. “Love you,” I call back. My smile fades quickly as I open the door to Mark’s truck, the new-car smell nearly suffocating me. Loud music blasts through the speakers, my favorite band, favorite song. Life, happiness, God… No hesitation, I turn the radio off.  Mark smiles at me, his big white teeth showing just how “happy” he is I’m coming home, the same toothy smile he’ll give to his new family.