Birdhouses and Bad Driving

The last time I had seen my father was when I was twelve. I can remember his loving, glowing face beaming down at me and handing me a banana on a stick that had been dipped in melted chocolate. That seemed like such a normal, wonderful day until the accident.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunshine and bird caws awoke me from my slumber. I then remembered that I didn’t have a window. Dad stood above me, flashlight in one hand and my pet bird, Daisy, in the other. He chuckled then lightly sat her on the bed and petted her head twice with his forefinger. She ruffled her fluffy, yellow feathers. Dad flicked off his flashlight.
“Good morning, Sunshine.” The grin on his face was phenomenal. He must’ve had something planned for today.
“Mornin’ , Dad.” I was about to smile his big smile when I realized that my breath was rotten from sleeping. I sat up in bed and cupped Daisy in my left hand. “There are pancakes downstairs.” He kissed my head and exited my bedroom. I held Daisy and watched her pluck at her feet with her beak.
The smell of syrup hit me. My stomach grumbled at me, angrily. I wanted food. I hurried downstairs, approaching a table with an abundant amount of pancakes. Dad kissed mom as he walked by and handed her a cup of his infamous “Cup of Fried Joe.” My dad was an inventor. He loved building things out of old parts and creating useful things. Well, at least, HE thought they were useful. The Cup of Fried Joe wasn’t exactly the way I took my coffee.
Mom gasped at the newspaper that sat, half-folded beside her plate. The kitchen went silent besides the sound of the bacon popping. Mom just kept reading. She did this a lot. Normal people would’ve called her crazy. I find her intriguing.
“Penelope, don’t you fancy this young man?” She scooted the paper towards me and pressed her finger a few centimeters below the boy’s chin. Who she pointed at was none other than Miles Ridley.
“Mom, I’ve told you a million times, I have no feelings for that boy. He’s nothing but trouble.” I heard a loud clink on the pan behind me.
“Boy?!” Dad furrowed his brow. Dad didn’t talk about how he met mom. Apparently, Mom and Dad had a forbidden love and went behind their parents’ backs to express their desires. He always was very protective about me falling for boys. I didn’t understand why, considering he should understand that not all men are pigs. But, Miles Ridley was, indeed, a pig.
“Dad, not for a few more years. I have more important things to focus on.” I forked a couple of pancakes and slapped them onto my plate. Mom grabbed the syrup and destroyed my pancakes with an eruption of lava that flooded the pancake mountain. That was Mom’s favorite thing to do. I heard Dad puff out an air mound from his chest. I knew he was letting out the steam from him scaring himself into imagining me at 16, being pregnant with a child and having no form of stability in a household.
“Well, today, I have something special planned for us.” Dad scooped the last pieces of bacon out of the pan. I saw that coming from a mile away. I swallowed the hot breakfast cake that overflowed from my mouth. I used my tongue to get the sticky parts out of my teeth.
“Like, what?” I turned to face Dad. He gave me a little snort and turned back to cleaning up the food on the counter. Mom snorted, too. That must’ve been my clue. Maybe it had something to do with swine?