Thinking of Writing a Book Continued

Things were okay, or at least I thought so. When you’re a 15-year-old girl your world consists of boys, girls that don’t like you, conversation for hours on the phone with your best friends about what you should wear to the upcoming dance, etc. That was my world then, at least for a little while. That world quickly came to a screeching halt. I was at school, doing my normal thing when I was called to the office to check out for the day. I took my time, gathered my things and walked to the end of the hall to find my step-dad (my mom’s second husband) standing there waiting for me. I kept walking, but I knew something was wrong. As I approached him he had no color to his face and he looked like he had just heard the worst news anyone could have told him. I asked him what was wrong and he shook his head no at me and started walking out the door. I followed. I continued to ask him what was going on and he still wouldn’t answer me. Finally he turned around and looked at me after we had reached the parking lot, he said, “it’s your dad.” I didn’t really know what he was talking about, I asked him what happened, he didn’t say a word, he simply put his fingers as though they were a gun to his head and pulled an imaginary trigger that all of a sudden was more real to me than I can tell you. I asked, “Daddy committed suicide?” He nodded his head yes and told me to get in the truck. I climbed into the truck unable to speak, unable to think. What he just told me seemed like a nightmare, seemed impossible. We hat to go pick up my younger sister who was in sixth grade at the time. He went in and got her and when they came back out she asked what was wrong. I looked at my step-dad hoping with all my heart that he would tell her because I didn’t know if I could even begin to utter the words that seemed to make time stand still. He just stared at me, so I had to look my sister in the eye and tel her that our daddy, our hero, our knight in shining armor was gone. We didn’t know a lot about the situation until we got home. We walked in and my mom told us that he was gone. I collapsed to the floor. It was as if everything in me wasn’t enough to keep me upright. Nothing at that moment could have given me the strength to stand. Every breath I took, every tear I cried as I lay there on the floor seemed to echo. The saying, “time