Family

trigger warning: abandonment.

Family

By: Anastasia Mellovich

It is 3 AM on July 30th, and tomorrow is the tenth worst day of my life, but who’s counting? The first worst day of my life was March 2nd, 1993, which just so happened to be my third birthday. It was the day my dad left my mother and I to move to Illinois. I have been up for the past three hours, making myself physically ill, thinking about the possible outcomes of tomorrow’s events. You might be asking yourself, where did the other nine horrible days come from? Those were the past nine family reunions I decided to attend in hopes of reconciling with my father, but I have done much more than reconcile. I have somehow convinced him that I am a family friend, and every year we catch up to make up for the other 364 days he missed out on.

 This year is different, though. I am thinking of coming clean about who I really am. You see, for all these years I have thought of my father as the bad guy, but every year I start to realize more and more that he was just a young dad who didn’t know how to raise a child. My name is Autumn, like the season, but once a year on July 1st, I go by Summer, like the other season. Weird, I know. I suppose you are wondering how no one notices that my father doesn’t recognize me, but if you knew my family, it would all make much more sense. I genuinely believe that Jesus, yes, Jesus Christ, himself, could come to our family reunion, and I am not entirely sure that my family would notice.

I have arrived at the dreaded family reunion. I have gone for the past nine years and every single year, I wonder why I come. The smell of hot dogs and corn on the cob is filling the hot, summer air, and I am catching up with my aunt Helen, who I have not seen in quite a while since she missed last year’s reunion because her dog was sick. She never had any kids, so she treats her dogs as if they were precious gold. Gold is my last name. Autumn, a.k.a Summer Gold, that’s me. I glance up mid-sentence when I see my father arrive. As usual, he greets everyone with a warm smile and a hug. But I notice something peculiar; there is someone with him, a woman. He has always arrived at the family reunion alone. Who could this be? She looks sort of young, around my age. When he finally notices me, he introduces Brittany to me as his daughter. His what?  She is twenty-seven, which means he had her just three years after he abandoned my mother and me. She sort of looks like me; she has reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes. She sits at about 5’5 and has a slender figure. She seems nice. I wonder if she knows the truth about him. It doesn’t seem like it. As I open my mouth, nothing comes out. Instead, I am filled with tears.

As I attempt to leave the family reunion without a soul noticing, I have my hand gripped around the driver side handle of my black 2011 Toyota Corolla, ready to get in and disappear, but something stops me. I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder, and my first thought is that it is my father, but it isn’t. It is Brittany, his favorite daughter. As I turn around to look her in the eyes and unleash my anger on her, there is no one there.

Am I imagining things? Does this person really exist? I know there are a million emotions running through my body, but I have never imagined anything before, or at least not that I am aware of, or have I? Oh boy, this is turning into quite the day.

I ended up leaving the reunion and driving about 45 minutes back home. I decided to lay down on the couch with my favorite blanket and turn on the five o’clock news. I am now tucked in safe and sound under my covers, but I still cannot unwind until I get some closure. My brain is going a million miles an hour. I did not plan for my day to end this way. I thought that once I came clean to Jeremy, he would be ecstatic to find his daughter that he once abandoned has grown up to be someone that he has a lot in common with. After much debate, I’ve reached the verdict that I still want to come clean to my father about who I really am, so I decided to compose a letter to him. I would send a text message or dial his phone number, but my gut feeling is to write my feelings down on paper and send them in the mail, so I don’t have to experience his immediate response. This is going to take some time for me to process.

Dear Jeremy,

I am writing you this letter because, as much as I despise the person you have proven yourself to be, I believe everyone deserves to know the truth. I am aware that for the past nine years you have known me as Summer, a close family friend, but I really am-

I am interrupted by a loud noise on the TV. I drop my pen back down on the table without hesitation as a newscaster begins to speak:

“BREAKING NEWS

Police are searching for a girl known as Brittany Love. She was last seen with a man who claims to be her father, Jeremy Gold. She has red hair, greenish eyes, and is approximately 5’5-5’6. Sources claim that this man abducted her and is not related to her in any way. If you know any information about the subject, please come forward. There is a $1,000 reward.”

I pick my pen back up, shakingly, but I cannot continue to write. I feel very faint, and my eyes start to see black dots everywhere I look. My brain feels like it has been mushed together with information I cannot begin to comprehend. I – I –

I –

The End.