Chapter 1

I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the thick black coffin lying in front of me. I felt my chest ache as the last images of my father played over in my mind. Watching him pour his cup of coffee and taking a sip before he looked at the time on the microwave. Realizing he was late, he tossed me a soft smile before kissing my mother goodbye, who sat next to me while I ate my cereal. Ruffling up my hair, I shot out “hey!” as I tried to fix it. He just chuckled softly, before letting us know he would see us later, and headed out the front door. If only that was true. Bells rang from the church nearby as we gathered around his soon-to-be grave. I still didn’t understand how he died, what happened or why. My mother's sobs carried over us, as men dressed in black comforted her. I didn't know any of the people around us. It had always been the three of us. We often moved from place to place, never staying somewhere long enough to make other, stronger connections. However, the sheer number of people who gathered here today tells a different story. My father was dearly loved by everyone. A large crowd formed around us, some crying like my mother, while others watched me from a distance with questioning looks on their faces. The bells picked up one after another, as someone stepped forward to share my father's life story, before all those in attendance. I couldn’t bring myself to listen, tears slipped down my cheeks as I continued to stare forward, frozen in place. The coffin glistened against the light peaking through the heavy dark clouds above us. It was being held up by large straps and some type of machine that would slowly lay him to rest. A bundle of flowers and ribbons was located in the center of the coffin near to a photo of him. I couldn’t bring my eyes up high enough to look at it. Stifling a sob, I focused on a single rose in the bouquet, allowing myself to study the thing, as if I had never seen one before. A crack of thunder rolled over the sky above, followed by an immediate down pour of rain. I didn’t take my eyes off the single rose, as my own salty tears mixed with the torrential storm. Why him? Why was he the one who died? What happen? My mind raced for answers as those around me scattered for shelter. I felt my clothes becoming heavier as I watched the machine lower my father into the ground. Sobs broke out as I longed to feel his giant bear hug one more time. My mother threw her arms around me at that moment, kneeling down as she sobbed on my shoulder and I broke apart in her arms. My vision blurred as I pinched my eyes closed, bearing the weight of my mother as she clung to me and I clung to her. It had been eight years since my father's death. I still never received any answers from my mother about what happened, but we moved that same day, back to her hometown. Vancouver, Canada. It was a strange change from being in the USA for most of my life, but I have become accustomed to it now. Laying on my bed, my sketchbook in front of me, I finished the last few strokes of the rose that had been imprinted in my mind from all those years ago, with a single rain drop falling off a petal, onto a black surface. The drawing was done in pencil and will be one of many to add to my collection. A door slamming closed from downstairs jolted me out of my bed, as I quickly ran over to the light switch. Turning it off and locking my bedroom door before I dashed under the covers. It was late, and my stepdad would have just arrived home. If he saw I was still up, it would cause trouble for my mother. She had gone back to an ex just after my father died, and at first, things seemed to be fine, but after she remarried things took a turn for the worst. He started drinking, a lot more than he used to and when he was under the influence nothing seemed to make him happy. I could hear voices from downstairs growing louder, and I tried to hear what they were fighting about. “That was our rent money Steven!” My mother's voice carried up the stairs. I couldn’t make out what he said in response, but I knew something went flying across the kitchen; as my mother's footsteps quickly raced down the hall and up the stairs, passed my room and into hers. She slammed her bedroom door behind her. Leaving my stepdad downstairs to no doubt make a mess and continue drinking more before he would slowly slip up the stairs, try my door first, then move on to their bedroom. Thankfully, I locked mine every night. In the past, he had tried to take my door off, or take the locks off, but my mother knew better than that and fought him on it. That was one of the few arguments she won. Once things grew quiet, I slowly slipped my sketchbook out from under the covers, opening it to one of the most used pages in the book. A sketch of my father from memory was one of the few things I had left of him. My stepdad hated anything to do with him and grew angry if he saw a photo or if we talked about him, so this was all I had left. His smile always made me smile, especially as I ran my hand along his cheek, where it met his scruffy beard. It would remind me that he would often run his hands through it too. His dark eyes glistened in the light, filling me with a familiar warmth and a feeling of safety. My heart ached as I pulled his portrait close to my chest. “I miss you so much dad, I hope you are doing well.” I whispered before I drifted off to sleep.