Alone

The rain, a beautiful but also harmful thing, splashed down on the other side of the fogged window.  Waiting for something to happen to me, something different. 
“Sarah,” my dad, Tom called to me, “Can you come here for a second?”
“Yes, I’m coming,” I groaned back as I slouched from the black couch.  I noticed that my blonde hair had an excellent frizz going on, this rainy day is the reason.  “Why do you need me?” I enquired.  The dark lighting in our living room and the dark skies made it exceptionally hard to see him.  
“Honey, can you come here for a second, it’s something important,” he called to the kitchen were my mother was preparing dinner.
My stomach did a little flip when he called my mother over, it had to be smething pretty huge if he wanted to tell us both.  He never has talks like this with the both of us, also he seems on edge for some reason.  He is usually very calm and collected, a perfect dad for me, just as a self confident twelve-year-old.  
Hands shaking, he read part of the letter he had received just this morning, “Dear Thomas Wemming, we need you for a special evasion of Syria.  We see that in your thirties you had military training which makes you eligible to go into war.  You will need to be transported immediately to United States Army Garrison Fort Hamilton, New York for refresh training.  You will be sent to Syria in exactly one month to help the civil war that is going on there with thousands of other troops.” 
The bitter words, my heart sinking, knowing what is coming next. The blue walls around us were starting to feel close as no one of us spoke, the white ceiling came crashing down to the floor.  “Why you?” I exclaimed to break the silence.  “Plus, when did you have military training, where did you find the time?”
“It was long ago when you weren’t even born yet, I had a lot more free time back then,” he said as he remembered all the good times.  “I know it must be hard for you to think about me leaving, I’ve been here your whole life,” he said back in a caring sort of tone but I could still hear the desperation in his voice.  “I have to leave tonight or as soon as possible so I can start up the training I left off,” he explained to my mother.
Going, stopping, hugging, I love my dad with all my heart and hate to see him go but I tell myself it’s for the better on this bright sunny day.  It’s like you’ve lost your one and only favorite toy, I thought to myself.  Alone, a month flies by, of course it would, it’s summer vacation, a summer of raindrops from the sky.  “Ring, ring,” the telephone yelps as I run over to it now grasping it in my hand.
“Hello, can I speak with Mary Wemming please,” came a surprisingly shocking deep voice.
“Yes you may,” came a totally different squeaky voice of a twelve-year-old.  “Mom, this guy on the phone needs you to speak with him,” I yell to her upstairs.  She comes down and takes the phone from my hand,  definitely shaken from something.  They talk a long time about what I think is based around her husband. 
“Sweety,” she says to me after she is done talking, “Daddy is over there now and there is nothing to worry about.”
Oh yes there are things to worry about, I think under my blonde hair.  A quirky woman, tall and thin, my only source of conversation, my mother.  My household companion for however long, I have no idea really how long, is extraordinarily bossy.  Shopping is a pain with her telling you to get this and get that just so she can make breakfast for herself.  Don’t even get me started on what it’s like watching television.
I wonder about everything while we go anywhere, about how my dad, my one and only dad is doing, to why do we need to have homework over the summer.  Sometimes I can’t get my mind off things and they just stick in there, like my dad being gone like this.  Being with only my mom doesn't help in any way, having to do every little thing with her, I’m twelve you know.
It has been about two and a half months since I last saw my dad on that sunny day.  “Ring, ring, ring,” the telephone yaps as I lazily slouch over to it.  I pick up the phone and a different depressed voice says, “To the family of Tom Wemming,” I call my mom over in an urgent tone and she rushed over, “A note from the U.S military forces stating that sadly the body of Thomas Robert Wemming was found dead in Western Syria earlier this morning.”
I set down the phone and looked at my mom and started to cry until I couldn’t shed another tear in my life.
This rainy day, fog on the windows, blocking the view from the  terrible outside world.