Dispatches from a Teenage Girl

Chapter 2

Bruce is, was I guess, my dad. But "dad" in the traditional sense is a bit of a stretch. He didn't live with us. Us being my mom and I. Well, he did live with us at one point but I don't remember. And then he left and never really came back except for the odd birthday or Christmas. But never actually on the exact right day. I'm not sure if he ever knew on which exact day my birthday falls. Or that Christmas is December 25th.

It's not that I didn't like Bruce. I just didn't really know him. And now I never will.

He never really took the time to know me. It was always so obvious when he gave me a gift. They were never, ever age appropriate. He gave me a doll when I turned 13. He just didn't understand that you don't play with dolls in middle school. And he never seemed to care to take the time to find out what I might be interested in – like music and sports and reading. I think that's what hurt most of all. He didn't seem to care about me at all.

But then, he always seemed so happy to see me and so sad to leave at the end of the day. And it felt so sincere. Then I wouldn't hear from him for months. It never made sense to me. And I never got the chance to ask him to explain it. And I guess I never will.

After the cop dropped me off at home, I still had no words. I walked right past my mom and into the house, up the stairs and straight into bed in my wet, sandy clothes. I think I stayed there, under the covers, for an entire day. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I wasn't hungry. And I was just so tired.

By Sunday, my mom decided that I needed to move.

"Lucy, get up. Now!" she yells into my room. I grunt loudly, maybe an actual word came out, I am not sure. I slowly get up and feel a bit light headed as I swing my legs off the bed and my feet hit the floor. I lift my arms and have a huge stretch. Hooo boy. I do not smell good.

I stand and take a moment to get my balance. I feel light headed and my legs feel all tingly. I stumble over to the washroom and turn the shower on as hot as I can handle and step in.

"Oh Bruce," I say out loud as the hot water is raining over me. I feel like I should be dwelling over all these things I wish I'd had the chance to say to him or moments I wish I'd had with him. But I don't. I just never pictured my dad walking me down the aisle or me going to him for advice on my future. He's just always been Bruce, basically a stranger who I happen to be related to. Our times together have always been so awkward and now, in the pit of my stomach, I almost feel relief that I don't have to go through them anymore.

And every time this relief is felt, guilt washes over me. This heavy guilt that consumes me and I can feel from my throat right to my toes.

This shower is so hot. So now my toes are filled with guilt and completely wrinkly.

I step out of the shower and struggle to see through all of the steam. I wipe off the mirror and stare at myself. My eyes look darker, my lips look thin and my skin looks pale. I comb my hair and put on some deodorant.

"Lucy, let's go. We're late already!" my mom yells from downstairs.

Today is the "celebration of life". My dad was not the type to go to church or to even attend a funeral, so it really didn't make sense to have one for him. At least it's just this one event. Although I still do not want to go. My dad's mom and brother will be there. I don't even remember the last time I saw either of them. And I really have nothing to say. Having to spend the next few hours with them makes me feel like I am being punished for my dad dying. We have nothing to talk about and I really don't feel like listening to how much Bruce loved me. Because he's gone now and he'll never have the chance to prove it.

I throw on a dress, run downstairs, out the door and into the car. My hair is still dripping wet and now the back of my dress is wet too. I slump in my seat and stare at the window and we drive to the funeral home.

I am going to make it through this and the rest of this mandatory week of mourning and then I am going to have the senior year that I have been dreaming about.

***

My grandmother walks up to me as I first enter.

"Lucy Anna, my sweet, sweet, Lucy Anna," she cries and holds me, rubbing my back. She is the only person who calls me Lucy Anna. Her name, of course, is Anna. And she wants everyone to know what a perfect son she raised who gave his only child her name.

Bruce was not perfect. This is going to be a long day.

"Hi Grandma," I muster as I pull out of her embrace. I walk away before she has the chance to corner me with tales of Bruce. There is actually no other room to escape these conversations so I head for the food table in the corner.

I promptly stuff my face with crustless sandwiches and I can see that my uncle Donnie has spotted me.

"Lucy goosey," he yells. I shrug and point to my full mouth.

"Aww kid, get over here," he says as he pulls me into a hug. He smells like stale beer and cigarettes. I might barf up this sandwich that I have barely just swallowed. I don't even remember that last time I saw him. Maybe ten years ago, more than half my life ago. He lets me go and I promptly stuff another sandwich in my mouth in order to continue my inability to talk.

"Such a shame, such a shame," he keeps repeating. He eventually seems to tire of watching me chew and walks away.

I look around and spot my mom and speed towards her and grab her hand. I pull her close to me and try to hide behind her body like I did as a shy toddler. I wish I can be invisible. I don't want to talk about Bruce. I don't want to talk to anyone here.

A photo slideshow is being projected against the back wall. Almost every picture is my dad and I. What a load of crap.

I whisper to my mom that I have to go to the washroom. I walk out of the room and out the front door. I walk to my moms car, open the door, lie across the backseats, curl up, close my eyes and fall asleep.