The floor creaks as foots steps run along upstairs, I shut the door for some peace and quiet but the floors boards won’t give in, the footsteps just echo. The top floor is full of my uncle’s daughters and sons, all no older than six, running… playing tag…making noise. My grandparents house is like a day care center, proven to be otherwise known as hell. In the room I lay, thinking of what today will bring, I get lost in thought.

Screaming though my mind, memories of my father play a sick, twisted game. Hazy pictures of playgrounds, ice-cream stands, horses, and family visits take over. A grin emerges on my face, remembering how I used to translate for him at every store from Wal-Mart to Auto zone. It made me grin even more remembering that I helped him get his United States citizenship. I didn’t know what it was called back then, I only knew that he needed my help. Every Wednesday I’d help him study his American history, and English language. I was 8.

Once he was a citizen, the moments we spent together became a business deal. I’d go with Susan, she owned the ranch he had his horses in, he took care of his horses while I helped her garden, some day’s we watched old movies like Annie. When the horses were fed and groomed, he would take me home…well us, my two brothers that seemed to be mute around him were also included. Oh, and let’s not forget the child support he doesn’t have to pay because he sees us every Wednesday, that took the cake out of the business deal.

The noise lowers then suddenly it becomes silent throughout house. I bet the children got in trouble for their mischief. I turn on my side and continue on with my thoughts. I wonder if he thinks about us, if he knows that we arch our back and look down when people ask “So, what does your dad do?” We sit there, wishing we had something to say, make something up so they don’t suspect that we truly have no idea about anything in his life. I wonder about my brothers, how one is basically mute, barely speaks to his own family and the other says gibberish that doesn’t make sense…maybe to cover up the hurt? I never ask. Lastly, I wonder about myself, I ask if his absence is the cause for my outcome, for how I am, for everything.

I hear the footsteps again, but from someone heavier than a child, I hear them coming down the stairs, I sit up and prepare for their arrival. The door cries and screeches as it is opened. My young aunt appears with the house phone in her hands, with one hand covering the end where you speak into. “Hey, your Dad’s on the phone, he wants to talk to you” she whispers to me. My eyes widen as I look at her, her frown turns into a half smirk, with worry still splattered in her eyes, I bite my lip and reach for the phone, my hands start to tremble. I bring the phone to my ear, take a gulp and prepare my mouth to speak.
“Papa...?”I scrunch my eyes together.
(Translated)
“Hey, did you think I forgot?” He spoke.
“What?” I responded, being completely confused.
“Happy birthday” he said. My eyes opened and I checked my cell phone to see what day it was. I wasn’t sure if being surprised would be the correct way to respond, it shouldn’t have surprised me at all. It was June, my birthday is in July, but I guess they both start with the letter ‘J’.
After a long pause I responded “Thank you dad, I’m glad you remembered. I wish you could be here.” I said while faking a smile in front of my dad’s sister.
“You’re grandma has $200 waiting for you upstairs, don’t spend it all in one place, give the phone back to your aunt.” I gave the phone back and took a long breathe through my nose, and then exhaled. I told myself to look at the bright side. At least he called me this year.