Chapter One: Forever My Father

         There comes a time in a person's life when everything in your life is completely turned upside down. For me, it happened twice. The first time was when I was seven, when my father died. The second time was ten years later, when I met Jeremy.
         Saying my father was a figher is an understatement. When I was six, he was diagnosed with lung cancer, and believe me it was a tough battle. He went through rounds and rounds of chemo, losing his hair, and almost all of his appatite. He missed my seventh birthday because his heart gave out, but he came back to us. Granted, dramatically weaker, but he was here. I can remember one time, when the ambulance had to come to the house to get him, because he couldn't breathe. Which luckily birthed a new friendship. My mother had called over my neighbor, who happened to have a daughter my age. We immediately became friends, and she was there for my through that year, when I was scared of what I didn't know was happening to my family. Sure, neither of us did, but having a friend made it a little easier. After a long wave of pain in the spring, summer came, and my father seemed like he was almost normal again. He was able to walk around the house and come outside to watch me play. We all fought with him through that year, only to lose the fight in the winter.
          That night still burns crystal clear to this day. My father was well enough to come home, even though he would still have to be hooked up to IV drips, an oxygen mask, and various other machines. I could feel that something was off. I was only seven, but I had witnessed enough of his cancer to know that it was this much lifelessness would lead him to the hospital- usually a coughing fit or a heart attack did. I was laying next to him in his bed, we were watching one of his favorite Twilight Zone episodes. It was normal for him to cough all the time, but something about the way he was coughing that night was off. At first I ignored his coughing, the way I normally did. But it never stopped. I turned to look at him and to ask if he needed anything, like a glass of water, but what I came to find would forever be imprinted in my mind. His face was a deep red, on the verge of purple, and his eyes bulged. With his hands clawing at his chest, gasping for air, I didn't know what to do; truth be told I was horrified. Naturally, I did what any seven year old would do, I screamed and cried as loud as I possibly could for my mom. I was still carrying on, when all of a sudden my father wasn't coughing anymore, but only breathing shortly. I thought it was the end of the fit, and as it turned out it was the end of something. The way he looked at me at that very moment, spoke to me louder than any words could have. They said I love you in the most endearing way. And that was it. by the time my mother came in, the battle was over. At first, I didn't understand this. Until my mother started bawling, holding my father's hand. After a while, my mom called the ambulance to take him away, forever leaving us. He may have been leaving us, but he would forever be my father.
         We were a family then, my mother, father, and I were all happy together. Sitting down at dinner, seeing them laughing with each other. My dad would laugh with me, and play outside with me. They would read me bedtime stories together. As far as I was concerned nothing would ever change this. Except for my father's death. He didn't just take his life with him, but my mother's too. I spent the next two years learning how to take care of myself. Doing laundry, cleaning the house, making breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and making sure I got to school on time. All because my mother went into remission. Dismissing the fact, that she still had a daughter to take care of. Looking back now, I understand that it was depression, but my mother was never the person to just give up, and for that, I was disappointed in her. I was, and still am disappointed in her, because what she did after those two years was pathetic. After a spouse dies, most people say that they should move on, that their husband or wife would want them to be happy with another person. Well, my mother took that to a whole new level. My mother was out multiple times a week with a different guy. Bringing home a selected bunch. By the time I was twelve, she had remarried twice. After that, I was recruited to become her official wedding planner. How? I still don't know.
         I'm seventeen now, a senior in high school- top in my class, and a waitress at Road's Bar and Grill. For my mother I have one thing to thank her for: the motivation to push on. I worked at Road's for over a year, and honestly the people I work with are my family. Them and my best friend Beth who was there for me when my father was sick. We do everything together, and are so similar that it's almost scary. Until recently, Beth became an international rock star. Her band has already done a short national tour last summer, and reached number one spots on various music charts. They're planning on going over seas for an international tour, immediaely after graduation. That would be the day that I look forward to, and dread at the same time. I look forward to it, because it means that I can finally get away from my mother. I dread it because, it means that I could possibly lose my best friend. I don't know what I would do with out my other half. She's helped me to be a stronger person, and taught me things that my mother wasn't there to. To say that my mother hasn't exactly been a part of my life, would also be a major understatement. I wouldn't be surprised if my mother didn't know where I worked, what grade I was in school, or how old I am. I know that sounds extreme, but it's probably true. I'd kill for my father to come back, just so I could get my family back, the way we used to be.

         It was the last day of summer and the beginning of a new school year. I woke to find a rainbow patten across my cherry wood floor. Rolling over, I turned to look at the time on my nightstand. Green letters shown that it was eight in the morning. Sighing, I pulled my blankets off and sat up. Throwing on sweatpants that were hanging on my desk chair, I made my way downstairs to start my day. Starting with a cup of coffee. I was so used to being the only one awake in the morning, I didn't notice the other presence in the room right away. After turning on the coffee machine, I turned around to not only find a newspaper in a pair of hands, but a man's hands holding it. Throwing a hand over my chest to cover my little heart attack, I angrily said, "Who the hell are you?"
         The man who put down the paper, was not bad looking, with a well receeding hairline, deep blue eyes, and perfectly straight, white teeth. He looked like he was roughly my mother's age, so I was assuming he was her new toy. "I'm Chris, your mom's boyfriend. You must be Charlotte?"
         "I figured." I turned around to finish making my coffee, so I could leave the room. The entire time I was putting the sugar and milk in my cup, I couldn't help but think about how long he's been here, and why I haven't met him before.
I left the kitchen and sat down on the couch, and started to flip through channels.