a little peek...

I thought it would be appropriate to post a little glimpse into a little of what I have been writing for my book.. this small passage keeps playing in my head over and over. Just posting for my benefit I guess.  Who knows, maybe someone else can relate..

    

 I think every little girl at some point has the fantasy of a prince rescuing her.  No matter how "hard core" or "non girly" we are, deep down we think this scenario out.  For me I cast my birth dad into that role.  He was going to come and rescue me and my brother.  I would look at my step dad sometimes and imagine just as he was going to hit us my birth dad would burst through the door and demand in a very Clint Eastwoodesque way, “Get your hands off of my children!”  We would then run to him “Oh, Daddy!  Thank you!  You found us!”  It was literally my security blanket anytime I felt the harsh coldness from my step dad.  Sometimes, when we were outside playing and my step dad was at work I would tell my step sisters and brothers “Your dad is not my dad!  My Dad is going to come and get me!”  I would puff up and then continue to cross the backyard to meet my “real” brother.  My step sisters, who were maybe 5 would cry and that would make me feel really good.  “Ha!”  I would say to myself.  “Let them cry!  Now they can feel like I do!  NOT special and not wanted.”  I would catch myself smirking.  “I AM wanted!  You hear me!”  I would shout to them.  But they were already headed inside the house to tell our mom.  I didn’t care.  My dad did want me.  He did love me.  He did..right?

     One day out of the blue the phone rang and when my mom picked it up her face looked odd.  I don’t remember what she said but I do remember my step dad saying “Hang up!  Now!”  My mom did and a few minutes later the phone rang again.  My step dad answered this time and his words do not come to my memory but it was clear by his tone and body language that he was pissed off.    He slammed the phone on the kitchen counter and motioned with a grand gesture for me to pick up the phone.  I had no idea what was going on but I knew if I knew what was good for me I would pick up the phone.  My mind was swimming as I heard myself stutter a meek “Hello?”   “Is this Heather?”   I heard a mans voice ask.  I looked up at my step dad almost as if to ask permission to answer the question that I felt he had heard.  I must have not spoken for a long time because the voice started saying “Hello?  Are you there? Hello?”  “Yes.”  I felt like I had just broken a law by answering.  “Heather, do you know who this is?”  He asked.  “No?”  I anwered in a question and looked up to my step dad for his approval of it.  “ I am Mike.”  He spoke with a weird familiarity.  “Your..”  He slowed his words as if to make sure I understood him.  “Your father.”  My eyes must have shown some glimmer of light because my stepdad pushed past me and hissed some vulgar words.  My mom just stood there, frozen not smiling but not frowning either, just blank.  I really don’t remember too much of the rest of the conversation except he told me he was sending a birthday gift to me.  He also told me a lot about himself and all the music he wrote and that he was on the radio.  I  remember smiling a lot when he told me that.  I remember thinking “My dad is famous!”  “Wait until I tell the other kids at school!”  He finished up the covorsation by asking to talk to my brother.  What I DO remember is that he never said I love you.  I remember thinking “He must be scared that my step dad will hurt me more if he tells me he loves me.”  I smiled and handed the phone to my brother. 

     I stood by and tried to over hear my brothers conversation with our birth dad but really all I could hear was my brothers muffled responses.  It seemed to me that everyone else in the kitchen was evesdropping as well.  “My dad called me!”  “My dad is on the radio!”  I kept thinking these things over and over again to myself.  Each time I repeated it I would imagine myself in a fancy car with my dad going to his radio job.