Christine's short stories

Chapter 8: The writing dialogue between Father and Daughter.

Again, dedicated to Anna, still sitting bored with Sam, her IV monitor, who she has (creepily) named. 

The writing dialogue between Father and Daughter.

Daughter:

Her heart ached for him, even though he wasn’t here. She looked around her own room, full of the horded knickknacks and copy books full of years of writing. She took in her room, the heater worked, heat diffused out from it. Her lights didn’t flicker and dim when she pressed the switch. When she pressed the big round button on the TV, the picture automatically came to life. Her i-pod sung away quietly, almost whispering in the corner on her double bed, which had clean sheets. But HE didn’t have any of this. His tiny room was only occupied by hording, unmoving mould, still unknown to science. The broken, rusting and leaking radiator dip dripped away in the corner constantly, nothing remotely relating to heat coming from it. His lamp in the corner was the only source of light. The mouldy light switch on his wall did nothing but collect bacteria. He didn’t have a TV, or an i-pod. All he had was a guitar, which sat lonely on the floor in his room.

“I’ll play you a tune will I?”He said, catching her looking at that mahogany guitar. He reached for the guitar, bringing it into the next room. The worn couch he sat on had seen better days as it appeared to be directly from the mid forties. The once beige carpet was burnt, grey and muddy. Again, the light switch caused no reaction, the heater refused to heat. A shiver went through her back even thinking about living there. But then, dressed in two hoody’s, knee high socks and two pairs of tracksuit pants, he played. His fingers ticked the strings, plucking them and sometimes strumming. The chords he played with the other hand travelled up and down between frets before she even had a chance to blink. His voice joined in, ornamentation glittering through his melody, passion enveloping around his lyrics. She listened as tears developed in her eyes. His unrecognised talent and personality would rot away and die in here, and it wouldn’t take long.

He boiled the kettle and filled a hot water bottle. He gripped it around his chest tightly, clutching it for any bit of heat it had. She left him there, going home as tears washed down her face freely.

Arriving the next day, she opened the shopping bag full of food and emptied it into the fridge. The only thing in the yellowing dim fridge was empty apart from the millimetre of souring cheep milk. Her heart chipped a little more at the sight. She started the cooker and put on the pasta as he watched egger to learn.

The hot, fresh food was scoffed within minutes. His first proper meal in a month. He helped her make do the washing up and got out his guitar again. He thought her a few songs, beaming with joy to have a new friend. That’s when the call came.  

“Hello?” She answered, not a bother in the world.

“Where are you?” Her dad’s voice sounded furious at the other end of the line.

“With my friend...”

Two days later she sat on her bed, crying into her pillow in-between intervals of screams. Her dad hated her, not even able to look at her. She had apparently done something inexcusable.

What had been a simple act of kindness had lead to hatred, disappointment and tears of frustration and anger. She hung there in the dead silence, her curtains straining with her weight. Her limp, lifeless weight.

Father:

He sees his child make decisions that he has no control of. She is his precious but alas he cannot guide her forever. He may not always know what she is going through, but the chances are he has been through it himself, many moons ago.

He wishes she came with a handbook, but she didn’t. He loves her more than she will ever know, but he cannot always be her friend, he has to be a parent for the short time that he can. If she could only realise that everything he does and says to her is for her corner which he is always fighting for. There are very few people in this world that will always always always be looking out for you through the good times and the bad. Who you can ask about anything are your Mam, Dad, and your brother, and a handful of real friends. They are the people who love you and who will always be there for you NO MATTER WHAT. If times were always great and easy we would have no mass on them. That’s why we have bad times and good. I guess it’s so we can appreciate the good.

~Tammy the Tooth Fairy.

Author:

This is a story I wrote. I am the daughter, but I left the hard copy of the story lying around. When my dad came home, he saw it and responded. What I described was all true.

Tammy the tooth fairy was my tooth fairy growing up, I used to write letters to him and he’d write back. I discovered the tooth fairy, Tammy was my dad a few years ago.

Xx

Teinnylee.