Dear Zero

Entry #2

June 10th

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Dear Zero,

Things aren't okay. Sometimes, I trick myself into believing that everything's fine, but I always come down from the illusion. I wish the mirage could last longer.

Everything's not fine, Zero.

Nothing that I've known has ever been completely okay, but some things are more complete than others. The time before Dad left was more complete. It was almost whole, like a large cake with a thin slice missing.

School was fun, and I had close friends that I could talk to. On Saturdays, Dad didn't have to go to work. He would take me to the local ice cream place and let me get as many scoops as I wanted. I was more into the kinds of ice cream that were fruit flavored, but Dad preferred the chocolate and caramel flavored ones with nuts. After we ate ice cream, he'd take me for a drive around town. We always drove to the park, where I'd run around and laugh as Dad chased me.

After we got home, I would usually climb into the treehouse Dad built for me and draw or play games. At the time, the sound of Dad's voice calling me to tell me it was time for dinner was exasperating, but now it's one of the things I miss the most. I wish I had come sooner when he called.

Mom didn't used to drink. She filled our house with laughter, and the meals she cooked were the best thing you could eat in town. At night, she would read me stories. There were shelves upon shelves in the house with countless books to read, and Mom promised me one night that eventually, she would read every book we had to me.

I don't blame Dad for the way things turned out. You might think I do, Zero, but I promise it isn't like that. Things just tend to fall apart when one important piece is missing.

I'm not okay, Zero.

I wish Mom would stop drinking and take me to the ice cream place, or take me for a drive. I miss the Mom that existed eight years ago. The night that Dad left was the night Lindsay Reynolds broke.

If coming quickly when Dad called me for dinner would have made him stay with us, I would have been there in a heartbeat, Zero.

Mom isn't the same anymore. She doesn't remember my birthday, and some days she doesn't say a word to me. She thinks that the only way she'll survive is if she fills the giant hole in her heart with alcohol.

But that's not the only way to survive, Zero.

The alcohol isn't healing her, it's hurting her. I wish that we could bear the pain together. The wound that Dad left can't be completely mended, but most of the pain could go away if Mom and me bonded and helped each other to cope.

She doesn't agree with me, Zero.

She says that it's all my fault, Zero.

These days I can't tell anymore.

Will you tell me the truth?

Is it really my fault, Zero?

Am I really such a burden?

Regretfully, Estella