Mascara Runs

July 2, 2009
By Anonymous

She yelled “Please don’t leave daddy” but it was too late. Half way out the door, having a tantrum wanting to make a scene, too bad she lived to far from everyone. No one would hear her cries of disbelief, anger, fright. He walked, never looking back while she sat as the tears rolled down her face. He came back 1 year earlier only to break her heart yet again by walking out on her. She sat on the ground in the dirt in front of her house watching her own father drive out of her life. Letting the rain hit her face as she looked up into the sky, her tears burning her face; the rain cooling it. A feeling she was used to.

She said under her breath, “Come back daddy. Come back and take your little angle with you.” She knew he would come back eventually, just like the other times but for now he was lost to her like anyone and everyone else in the world. The rain coming down was so cold but her body was fever warm, as she swore to herself to not sulk over this man, if he even was a man at all. She had to move but she could have sworn she heard the sound of a car coming back up the dirt road, coming to get her. She got up walked back into the so-called-house, walked into her father’s room and tore it apart. Nothing left but the ever so faint smell of his after-shave.

She strode through the hallway into her room, looked at the girl starring back at her through the reflective pool. The lines on her face were just too much she thought of her mother; warm eyes, beautiful hair, independent. The words her mother had said ran through her mind. She punched the mirror. She was dizzy she walked out of the spinning room, the light was so bright. Her face was stained with black lines, her eyes puffy and bloodshot her body still shaking, her ears had the painful sound of cries of desperation ringing in them.

She remembered her fathers face full of anxiety and excitement. ‘Had he been planning this for a while?’ she thought to herself. Why would he even think about leaving, sure his life wasn't perfect, but he had a family. The one thing that kept him sane was his daughter, then he just gets up and leaves. She sat alone on the couch listening to the raindrops falling on the window pains. The sound of thunder was off in the distance, she was scared and alone. She didn't want to call her best friend, who she had grown up with, in fact she wanted to be alone and cry this out. She jumped when the phone rang.
“Hello, this is Sacred Heart Hospital calling for a Ms. Violet Rasslon.” this voice that spoke sounded like a ghost, a horrible ghost.
“Yes, this is she. May I help you?”
“I am calling because it seems there has been an accident on the motorway. I am afraid that…”
“Yes, it was my father. Is he alright?” She sounded so afraid, but she knew she would see him again.
“He is in the ER right now…”
Violet dropped the phone. This was her chance to see him again, but she knew she could live on her own. Who needs someone in their life who doesn't want to be there? Life is life. Violet was always a strong believer in family and she knew she should be there when he woke up. She got into her old Chevy pickup truck and drove in the rain to the hospital, the whole way there thinking of what she would say to the man who made her life a living nightmare.
It took her longer than usual to get to the hospital because she had to take back roads and also the longer she had the more she could think. She had the courage to get out of the car and walk inside, once inside, that’s a different story. It took her 10 minutes just to go up to the desk to see if he was out of the ER; he was. Room 329. She paced her steps, looking into the room though the window. His eyes shut, he lay there so hopeless and fragile and yet still not peaceful. She crouched by the bed and whispered softly the words that she could never seem to say when he was around.
“I have hurt myself by hating you.”
She stood up knowing that he would survive this accident but not the losing of a daughter. She walked out of room 329 with her head held high, next step in recovering: moving on.
Now she was leaving him. She was walking out of his life.

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