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Somehow, Someday

TRUTH Prevails

By ROCK Published about a month ago Updated about a month ago 4 min read
Somehow, Someday
Photo by Alex Ivashenko on Unsplash

Outside is black, Daddy's not here. Outside is a sweet magnolia smelling place, Daddy's not here. Outside stars burst, fall, disappear, just like Daddy. I wait. I know, even if alone on the mattress on the floor he will be back; when the pink preludes the autumn sun's rising, Daddy will be here. I don't move; I don't sleep; I don't know how to call Mamma. Just when the orange, pink and yellow mix into hues I will paint someday Daddy comes in and falls onto the mattress. He said- "hey little Bird". I smell something stinky, his hair is thinning and it's longer on one side than the other. It's a red brown and I wipe it away from his sunken, deep sleep eyes. I look at him, his belly rises in it's nakedness and falls; he is covered in reddish hair on his stomach and chest. I see his pants on the floor and sneak over to check the pockets; I found about three dollars and some change and put them in my suitcase which was packed for my trip back to Mamma before he ever came home. I take some pencils from the table, I smell his cologne by the old porcelain sink and I even put a dash behind my ears. He is snoring and red-faced. I can't see a clock anywhere and I begin to worry; How will I know when to get on that airplane back to Mamma? I quietly open the door from the third floor apartment and sneak downstairs to the big door that opens to the autumn skies. I see nothing but white frost on the big leaves, a squirrel or two scampering busily and look for anybody that can get me home. Sitting, cold and hungry a woman comes out of the apartment house to warm her car. She is a teacher and must start out early. She asks me what in the world I am doing sitting outside without a coat; " where is your daddy?" she pushes on. I said something like somehow he fell asleep and I think today I am supposed to go home to my Mamma. The woman has a scowl and ushers me inside. She takes me into her apartment and gives me a big glass of orange juice; she said she'd be right back. A fat black cat jumped up on the table and purred around me; the colours of morning made a dizzying dance upon her kitchen's stucco wall. I felt okay, not like a cry-baby, but not like a fix it alright kinda girl either. Then the door opened and there was Daddy with my suitcase with the teacher woman pushing him in toward me. His hair that I'd fixed had covered half of his face and he had tears in his small, blue eyes. He said he loved me and the teacher was helping me get to my plane on time, he cried a lot and held me too tight. I left him there, with three dollars and some change, a couple of pencils to cherish in my bag and I said nothing. I fled, I flew, I would return for no matter how much his drunken, lousy time with me was, it was all mine, at least for awhile. When I got back to Mamma I would never talk 'cause I guess something was wrong with me. I just said everything was fine. I guessed, somehow, someday truth would prevail: I never doubted that one day my Daddy would remember and say, "I'm sorry Little Bird." I truly believed with all my heart he would come to me and beg me to forgive him. Why do you think that is? I knew what goodness was; I was good. He wasn't doing good things so he had to know it was his obligation to give me some peace, right? Naw. He went on and kept finding more kids, more families, holding onto our pinkie swear, our father-daughter bond that could not be broken. He used me, to lie, to cheat, to steal, to be nothing more than his soldier. I saw those skies turning dark, deep blue, grey and black; I knew it was gonna be hard times coming for him, not once, not twice, not even three times, just more and more dark, with nobody to hear me. I would learn that my truth would not matter to him, or to any, but I would know the smell of his cologne behind my ears, the rise and fall of his chest when he came back as the sun rose, the sadness of his failure to give me, his beloved daughter all that I deserved. I don't know why anything matters, goodness, truth and love are always so contrite. I lay far away from the memories of youth, of Daddy's promises and forgotten love; I do feel the edge, the blisters from his sickness, yet, in an addictive way, I crave his praise. Somehow, someday, truth prevails. Or does it?

divorcedfact or fictionchildren

About the Creator


Writing truth or fiction, feels as if I am stroking across a canvas, painting colourful words straight from my heart. I write from my old farmhouse in Sweden. *BLOGLINK

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  • Novel Allen9 days ago

    Daddies can be a pain even when they are home, still as little Bird says, still family. Life is not fair, haves and have nots and everything in between. Still we toggle on, making the best. Such an emotional beautifully written story.

  • Tiffany Gordon 17 days ago

    What a thought-provoking story... I feel bad for little Bird... I hope that she is able to eventually make peace with the situation. Such a Beautifully written piece... Thanks 4 sharing your tremendous talent with us ROCK!

  • Kodah27 days ago

    This really saddened me💔 Deeply emotional and exposed vulnerability. Incredible work Rock💌

  • Kenny Pennabout a month ago

    Oh man this story hit home for me, ROCK. A real tear jerker, brought back some not so great childhood memories. Very well written

  • Ameer Bibiabout a month ago

    Your story illustrated how addiction can make families feel sad and hurt. It showed that even when someone we love lets us down, we can still hope for better. It made me think about how important it is to believe in ourselves and stay strong, even when things are tough.

  • Shirley Belkabout a month ago

    I love the perspective from which you write this...a child's heart. Hope healing comes for her.

  • Nameless writerabout a month ago

    Saddest one💔

  • C. Rommial Butlerabout a month ago

    I struggled for many years with alcoholism, and a dark impulse to suicide or vagabondage, but never succumbed. My kids saved me. I go to pick up my oldest, who's grown (20 years old, can't believe it!) today, just because I want to spend time with her, and I am so happy to be doing that rather than wallowing in the bottle. I appreciate your vulnerability on display here. Even though it sucks that this is your memory of your father, it validates my struggle and my overcoming, because we all keep our child's hearts in our adult mind and body, and we are all ultimately responsible for what we bring into the world. It was never your fault or responsibility to him, but his to you. But, in the end, responsibility, as the word implies, is a choice. We can choose how to respond, or not to respond at all. Many blessings and much love! And a salute to Sargeant ROCK!

  • Dharrsheena Raja Segarranabout a month ago

    And this is why some people should never have kids. My heart breaks for that child 🥺

  • Colleen Waltersabout a month ago

    Wow… the imagery and story are devastating, and sad. Excellent work here!

  • Kelli Sheckler-Amsdenabout a month ago

    Geez Louise, this is killer. (my dad was awesome - I feel sorry for people who didn't have that) Fabulous storytelling

  • Hannah Mooreabout a month ago

    This was so wrenchingly raw.

  • Christy Munsonabout a month ago

    Heavy. 🥲

  • Babs Iversonabout a month ago


  • Andrea Corwin about a month ago

    I have no words! 👀🙊🫨

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