2
Melanie
I finish the last chord of the Pink Floyd song I’m strumming my guitar to while singing the lyrics. It’s one of those songs my father grew up doing this exact same way. It’s probably also why the tears are streaming down my face, my voice has a tremble, and I am a hot fucking mess. The few glasses of wine I’ve had to ease the ache tonight aren’t helping either.
Thinking about my father, the memories surrounding the two of us. A single dad at the age of twenty-three, taking care of a daughter on his own, it was unheard of where I grew up. My grandparents passed when he was younger, which led us to a family of two. He didn’t have women traipsing in and out of our lives, which I’m sure had something to do with the damage my womb donor inflicted on us both. Of course, he went on a few dates, but none he brought home. Even after I graduated high school and college, he still never brought anyone home. And yes, I was living at home and still do at the age of twenty-five. Now, though, it’s just me in that empty house, surrounded by everything that encompassed him, Mitch Parsons, an old soul who loved me and rock and roll. That’s why I’m here, at the beach, trying to escape the memories, to breathe some life into my body and mind. To heal some of the hurt and anger I’m facing. He wasn’t supposed to pass away so young and so suddenly.
A fucking brain aneurysm rupturing at the age of forty-eight. Who would have ever guessed that? I would have never in my wildest imagination thought something like this would happen to him, hell, happen to me. My dad was meant to walk me down the aisle, give me away, watch over my children, be a proud grandpop. Now, all of that is gone, and a piece of my heart is gone with him.
I sing the same song over and over, for what has to be going on an hour. I’ll be lucky to have a voice tomorrow. Not that it matters. I’m here by myself, renting this beach house month to month until I figure out just how to cope and deal with everything Dad left behind, and I do mean everything. The house, his cars, the investment portfolio that blew my mind. If I could get him back for just one more day, I’d give everything away. I’m a daddy’s girl through and through. Though he may have passed a month ago, the ache still hasn’t eased from my chest.
When I finish the last chord of the song, I rest the guitar beside me in the empty chair. The tears never stop coming, they continuously fall as I sit back in the lounge chair looking up at the dark sky. Stars are illuminating it, along with the moon. Surrounded by the smell of the ocean air, the noise in the background as the waves reach the shoreline, I should be at peace here. Instead, I’m wallowing in my emotions. I’m going to give myself one week, then I’m going to attempt to put my big girl panties on and learn to at least breathe again, if not learn to live. My father would hate to see me this way right now, but it’s the only way I know how to survive. I could be eating my way through the pain or snorting cocaine, another side effect my mother decided to leave us for, besides the bass player in some punk rock band. At least that’s what she said when she had the balls to show up at my father’s funeral. Rain was pouring down, so I was holding an umbrella in my hand, about to say my final goodbyes, when she had to interrupt that by talking about herself.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what she was after. But I ignored her, kissed my fingertips before placing them on the casket, and told my daddy I loved him. Then I walked the fuck away from my biological mother while she was still talking. I was pissed, my heart strings being pulled each and every way, but there was no way I’d make a scene in front of the hundreds of people who showed up to pay their respects.
The next day, she had the nerve to show up on my doorstep. I was still in my pajamas at well past noon, my eyes a puffed-up mess, nose red, and a splotchy face. Harsh words were said then, the cops were called by me, and she was escorted away. I thought that would be the last of it, but apparently, when your dad is a singer-songwriter for a few well-to-do rock bands, it brings out the crazy in people. Thank goodness my father had his shit together and his lawyers at the ready. It helped when she continued to come around. It also made me realize I may never escape her brand of crazy. Another reason why I’m here, at the beach, and alone in this crazy fucked-up world, mad at God, and a list of many other things. I take one last cleansing breath, stand up, grab my guitar, and head inside for the remainder of the night, already knowing sleep won’t come easy to me.