The Time-Capsule for No One (On Hold)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

October 5, 2096

      I know that by seven-thirty my dad has already left. My breakfast arrived in my room quite early. Usually my mom isn’t up to get me breakfast until a quarter to eight, but I got my breakfast at six forty-five. I think I did because my dad left this morning and my mom wanted him to remember her through cooking until he got back.

       I know that she made him a marvelous Eggs Benedict breakfast with chocolate chip pancakes, orange juice, and fruit salad because I got a cold egg on an English muffin coated with sauce, a mild medium-sized accidentally (well I hope accidentally) burnt chocolate chip pancake, warm juice, and a mushy fruit salad.

       When ever I get punished into my room, my mom usually gives me what is left of the meal, what someone didn’t want in the meal, the mess-ups while cooking, or sometimes, all of the above if she is really mad.

       As I eat, it feels as though food isn’t filling me, but guilt is getting forced in. I always wonder if that is my mom’s plan, to seclude me and always make her best dishes but give me leftovers. It’s as though she is thinking to herself, “This way she will miss me and everything I do, so she will crawl back with a lode of guilt and change her ways…”

       Whenever I think this I remember my mother would never do this to me…or would she? I love my mother and know she loves me, but I can never shake the feeling that she never planned on having me, as though it was one huge mistake.

       On the other hand, my father and I could never be closer. When he leaves for his long trips I always try to hold back the rain, but it is as if the heavens want to water the crops. Storms last for long days after my father leaves.

       It takes about a week until the heavens run out of rain, but they always seem to have time to restock by the time my father returns.

       When he comes home it isn’t a storm, but a light drizzle creating a rainbow. The only sparks that fly are when my father and I hug.

       But just thinking of the happy times me want to cry again. My father is off on another trip and I am locked in my room for whose knows how long.

       And just as I am about to start bawling again, my mother opens the door. She walked in holding a highly decomposable plate with an array of cookies, brownies, and cupcakes on it all wrapped up.

       I feel a jolt of fear run down my spine like a lightning bolt and brace myself for the worst. Whenever my mother bakes for me when I am grounded, it’s never good.

       She handed me the plate quietly, looked at me with a sparkle in her eye like she was trying not to cry, and without a word, left and locked the door. I was highly confused… “What the heck…” I thought pondering the circumstance.

       As I tried to figure out the mystery at hand, I noticed a note attached to the plate of goods. I could tell it was my father’s handwriting because of the way he curled his Y’s. The note read:

       To my dearest daughter,

I know you never got to say goodbye, and I am sorry. This business trip will be my longest. It will feel as though you will never get to see me again, but remember I am always here in your heart.

       I stopped reading, fearing what was coming next. He has, not once, left me a note wishing me well when he was going on a trip.

       I loved you the day I knew you would be mine. It was the most agonizing nine months of my life. I wanted to hold you in my arms, and never let you go. Then, you were born and grew fast. Too fast for a father to take. I just want you to know that even though