Desperation

"Honey, please don't make me tell you this. You don't understand what you're asking" Mom said, a desperate plea sounding in her voice. I almost let it go, thought that Mom wouldn't be able to get through it, but then I remembered the secret's importance. She might not have wanted to find my Dad, but I did, and I was going to.

"Come on, Mom. Tell me." I implored. She was not going to lie again. I loved her, but I needed to know. It was time.

"Fine. He... Left us two weeks after I had you. He took off, and I couldn't find him. I searched everywhere, and then... he... h-he sent me a text. Said it was over... A couple of weeks later, my f-friend saw him. Here's the address." Then she left the room. I hated to put her through this, but I had to. It was the only way to see him. The only way to see my dad. I wish that it wasn't the only way. That she didn't have to feel this pain. The sad truth was, though, that there wasn't another way. I had to find my dad. I had to tell him about the pregnancy.

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"Last stop: Windrixville." The conductor's booming voice roared over the hissing of the train. I stood up, my legs aching from hours of sitting in anticipation. I thought I would never be off of this train, but there I was. I was walking down the steps into the dark, dank city that my Dad lived in.

As I stepped off into the streets, the smell of urine hit me immediately, but I had expected that. I pushed through, forcing myself to breathe no matter what the air smelled like. A mother in the streets held up a sign that read "Please give money, food, or clothes. I have children to provide for." I pitied her. I really did. My mother had gone through the same thing for 3 years until she got a job. If I didn't get to work immediately, I wouldn't be able to provide for my baby.

I walked past the mother despite her desperate stare. I needed to save all the money that I had. It hurt to admit, but my baby meant more to me than hers.

"Sweetie, you want to buy a bike for the day? I promise it's worth your while!" A grifter said, looking at my chest. I pushed past him, disgusted at how my Dad could ever think of living here. I wondered what he would look like. He might've been a friendly, middle-aged man, with big eyes and a big heart. He might've remarried. He might've not even decided to stay at that house. That was a risk I would have to take, though.

"Taxi!" I yelled, waving down a cab. As I got in, I could see I wasn't alone. There was a young girl in the cab, sobbing. "Honey, are you okay? You seem lost." I asked, trying to act like a mother.

"No! I... I can't leave the city. I'm trapped here, and I can't get out." She said, much to my alarm. Of all the things that the girl could say at that moment, that was the one that surprised me the most.

"It's okay, honey. I trust in you. You'll make it out of here someday. Someday, you can leave this place behind you and travel the world. You can do whatever you want. You look like you're only ten! You have plenty of years left to do what you want with life." I said. I didn't truly understand her pain, but I knew what it felt like, trapped as if you can't escape no matter what you do. That, for me, was my addiction to cocaine.

I never wanted to try it. I never even wanted to get near it. But one night, I did, and it hooked me. It took me years before I could get clean, and that was with the help of family and friends. There were tons of addicts out there that needed help, and I couldn't help them.

That was the problem these days. Everyone was so wrapped up in their own problems that they don't stop to try and help someone else. As I got out of the cab, I was solemn and stone-faced, remembering my painful days:

"Honey, please. Put it away!" Mom screamed, trying to pry the cocaine out of my hands.

"STOP IT! I DON'T NEED YOU TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I CAN HANDLE MY..." I had started to say, then dropped off into oblivion.

Four hours later, I was in the hospital, unable to move or speak. I only wanted more. More cocaine. It was at that moment that I knew I needed to stop.

I shook the memory out of my head, refusing to relive it. I changed, and I was never going to be like that again. I walked up the street, wary of the houses that loomed over like gargoyles. As I knocked on the door of my father's house, the truth of the situation hit me. I hadn't seen my father in all my twenty-five years. He might've not even been there! Just then, the door opened, and for the first time, I got to look upon my father.

"Dad? I mean, are you James Morrison?" I asked, all my confidence fading away. I couldn't believe my eyes. In front of me was a stout, young man with black hair and cold eyes. He couldn't be my Dad. Could he?

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I always knew this day would come. I would always have to meet my daughter sometime. Her mother wouldn't be able to keep quiet. Still, I was grateful that it took twenty-five years. That gave me enough time to get my life together. I had a new family now, and I wasn't about to let Maria drag me back into my old one. She had expected me to be faithful to her during her various addictions, her abusive periods, and even her cheating. I was not going to. I wasn't going to let that devil woman shove her daughter on me, not after what she did to me. No matter how sorry she was. I looked up at the beautiful young woman, holding back tears, and told her "No."