My eyes opened to see my alarm clock proudly displaying the number 2:08 a.m. It was well before light out, even if it was June. I didn't mind, though, for I love watching the sunrise and sunset each day. But today was a bit different. You might even consider it a special day for me.
The day that my parents would hug me and tell me that they love me.
The day that my grandparents would pinch me and say, "Hadley, you've grown so much!"
The day I would get presents and stuff my face with cake.
My birthday. Though, I highly doubt I will be getting anything like that. My grandparents, all of them, had past away and so has my mother. My dad wouldn't remember. He started forgetting about my birthday two years ago, when I turned twelve. I didn't mind it. I had planned out the whole day for my fourteenth birthday.
I rolled out of bed and started to get dressed. I push the play button on my cd player and my idol's voice filled the small room.
I brush my teeth and look in the mirror
And laugh out loud as I'm beaming from ear to ear
I'd rather pick flowers, instead of fights
And rather than flaunt my style, I'll flash you a smile
Of clean pearly whites!
There is something else you should know about me (even though there is a lot to know). I absolutely, positively adore Owl City. Also known as Adam Young. I just love how his lyrics actually mean something, and it makes you think. It's not like the junk on the radio that plays over and over again. I always end up daydreaming when I listen to the music.
I opened my window to let the warm, fresh air in. I slipped on a rainbow wide-strapped tanktop and jean shorts. The tanktop contrasted with my dishwater blonde hair and blue eyes. I inspected myself in my mirror, even though I really didn't care what I looked like. I'm not one of those people. I had pale skin, which happens if you live in northern Minnesota, and I was very skinny.
I stuck my notebook and pen in my little backpack and headed to brush my teeth and hair. As I did, I heard a crash downstairs which sounded like pots and pans hitting the linoleum. I hurried up and ran down the stairs, which lead to the small living room. My dad was scrambling around on the floor, trying to pick up the pans that had fallen. His hair was messy and his face was unshaven. He still had to get ready for work. He was a mechanic.
"I've got it, Dad," I said, kneeling down next to him. "You go and get ready." He didn't look up, or smile. He just left, without a word. My mother's death did not go well on Dad. He has a drinking habit now, and he cries himself to sleep at night. He thinks I can't hear him, but I can. I never say anything about it, because I know that it wouldn't help him.
Sometimes he scares me though. The way he crashes about the house at night and the way he talks to her, as if she was still alive. Sometimes he cries out to her, and begs her to come back. It brings tears to my eyes.
I put all of the pots and pans back on the hanging rack above the sink and I opened our cupboards. I packed a sandwich bag full of pretzels, and another one full of grapes and an orange. I also packed celery and a bottle full of water. I am the only one who eats this food. I "accidentally" make too much of spaghetti or macaroni and cheese, just so that he will eat something. My dad doesn't eat very much at all; when he gets home from work, he drinks and falls into an alcohol-induced sleep.
I heard my dad come back down the stairs. He came back into the kitchen as I had finished packing.
"I've got to go, Hadley." He said, patting my shoulder. "I'll be back later tonight. Don't leave the house, and make sure not to cause any trouble." With that, he headed through the living room and out the door. Since the windows were open, I heard the car start up and pull away, crunching the dirt on the road.
