Gianna Arantes
Creative Writing
Daddy
Is it weird? That every time it's one of those bright, beautiful, sunny days, all I can think of is death? It always brings me back to that day. I felt like a sixth grader at her school's annual spelling bee. The consistent shaking of my leg made a small "click" every time my knee moved up and down, and hit the pew in front of me. "Elizabeth! Enough," My mother whispered. Soon, my Uncle Michael walked up to the front of the church and began to speak. He was Daddy's brother, but also his closest friend, and his regular companion. They were inseperable. They loved to fish together and when they came home, there would always be laughter and stories to tell at dinner while we enjoyed our fresh bass. "Last Sunday while me and Harry were on the bay.." I had to close myself inside, escape the church and wander my mind, because I could barely stand to hear anymore about my dead father. I imagined myself in a beautiful moment. My whole family stood along the walls of a white room, all dressed in our everyday attire. There was my mother, wearing her red kitchen aprin, and her hair scrunched into tiny brown ringlets that my Daddy loved to run his fingers through. My autistic brother Joseph, being helped by his aide Ms. Samantha. Daddy loved Joseph. He knew he was a really special boy. There was my twin sister Kendall, in her soccer uniform, bruises up and down her legs to show her dedication. My father, smiling as always, with a certain glow around him. And of course, our family dog Buddy was sitting underneath the table in the middle of the room. There was no roof in this room, so the sun shone directly on our faces and illuminated them. This made Daddy's bright blue eyes look exquisite. We had our average family fun night, and sat around the table playing board games until we passed out. Daddy always beat me in Monopoly though, no matter how hard I tried. I was back in the church. I could not stop thinking. I thought of the end. I thought of the beginning. I thought of the sun. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something about this blazing ball of fire just took me off the edge. I think it was the fact that my family, friends, and I were all depressed, looking down at our hands folded in our laps, wishing for a new day, while the sun shone in through the stain glass windows, brighter than ever; not holding back an ounce of light. It should have been ashamed that it chose to stay out on such a dreary day, making such a fool out of itself. The memorial dinner was a bore. I was not interested into talking to anyone, and gladly not many people bothered me. There were a few comments though, "If you need anything I'm here for you Liz," and "Its such a shame that he died so young!" Also, some "Do you know where the bathroom is," and "I'm sorry for your loss"-es. For the most part, i was left alone. The people there did not even seem upset to me. It wasn't fair that they could talk about the new things happening in their lives. I was stuck thinking about the end of my fathers life. It was not fair, that they sat at the table and discussed the memories they were about