One time when I was about thirteen I read an article saying that every time you try to remember something that happens, you mix up little details changing the memory a little each time until eventually what you thought happened was completely different than what actually happened.  Although I'm not sure about the accuracy or scientific truth to this theory, it is an interesting concept. It's funny how the human mind works.  As the years go by, memories fuse together and it gets hard to tell when we did what. Fond memories become blurs and the most insignificant small details of our lives we remember precisely. It will eventually get to the point where we look back on our lives, wondering if we even did what we claim to remember. That's why it's hard to talk about this, it's mentally draining to try and remember when something happened and the specific details of it. All the years blend together and even though I try my best to differentiate, I get overwhelmed sometimes trying to remember specific details and things I'd rather forget and push deep into my subconscious.

  I don't remember my dad very much. My memories of him are hazy. It's hard to explain, but it's as if my brain treats him like a dream you know? Like he never existed and I'm just making him up. I guess that's how I coped- by pretending like it was just in my head. I do remember though, the last time I ever saw my father- as much as I try to forget it. It was a cold December day, what day I can't fathom. I was nine years old and I was wearing a god awful polka dot jump suit that I only wore one other time for my ninth birthday. At that time my parents had been separated for about a year and a half and I was still disillusioned with the thought that they were going to get back together. My mother put me in special classes when my parents first split up that was supposed to help the kids "cope" with their parents divorce or separation. I remember whenever the word divorce came up I would fervently deny that my parents would ever do that and I would always yell at my teacher when she tried to "help me".  In my head at that time the word divorce was not in my vocabulary and I was absolutely positive that my parents would get back together and we would all be the a "happy family" again. This is why I give that theory I talked about some credit because I would find out shortly after that I was the only one in that house that wasn't miserable. I remember a very happy radiant childhood but that just wasn't the case for the rest of my family. Either my mother and sister were great actors or I was just really stupid. For years I would have to live with a sometimes unbearable guilt knowing that my happiness caused them so much pain and suffering; a suffering I would later have to experience.

Anyways, it was a really cold day, even though in Florida we barely have winters. He picked me up from my house and we got into his old green pick up truck and started driving. He always had a red bandana hanging from his rear view mirror that I played around with on our long drives from my house to his townhouse. Every weekend he would pick me up and we would drive around and have the best time. We would go to FunSpot (an amusement park) or the flea market. He worked as an electrician for homes people would rent out so they would always be empty and he would take me to work with him. I loved it cause I would go play in the neighborhood parks or I'd  bring my bathing suit and swim in the pools. We would always go fishing too, it'd be kind of our thing. I was actually really good at it, I loved fishing with him. At that time in my life he was my best friend and the only one who seemed to listen to me. Or maybe it seemed that way to me because I resented my mom for taking me out of ballet and putting me in a new school where I had no friends and my nineteen year old sister and I didn't exactly relate. He was the only one I could talk to, the only one that would let me eat popcorn and soda for breakfast and blast the horrible rap music I listened to in his car. I always thought we understood each other on a deeper level, like we could read each others thoughts.

I started to play around with his bandana as usual, but then I noticed that not even fifteen minutes later, we stopped at the movie theatre by my house. I was confused, I thought we were going to his house. I don't exactly remember what explanation he gave me but I do recall him telling me we were watching I am Legend- the movie had just come out at the time. I must have been extremely happy because I knew how bad I wanted to see that movie, but my mom said I couldn't go. Of course my dad knew this and told me to keep it a secret, which I did. He always let me watch movies my mom would never let me watch until I was about fourteen. I remember seeing my very first horror film with him, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I was about eight and I still get nightmares of that God damn torture house.

The movie was amazing, it still is one of my favorite movies to this day. After the movie we went to go get ice cream and walk around the park that was next to the theatre. It was around Christmas time so they had the lights put up, but it's not like I could've enjoyed them, it was the middle of the day. I cannot for the life of me remember what we talked about but I remember everything else with vivid detail. I remember they had just renovated the park at the time, so everything was freshly new and painted. The Christmas tree was the biggest one I've ever seen and it was elaborately decorated with fancy glass ornaments. It had rained for a few days prior to that beautiful sunny day,  so the water on the lake had risen significantly. I remember being very cold, but the only thing I can remember my dad saying to me was asking me if I wanted his jacket. He probably asked me how the movie was or we talked about school or something but I just can't remember the exact conversation.  After a while, he drove me back home. I don't remember being confused about why we weren't going to his house, so he must have given me a rational explanation. He dropped me off and that was it. There was nothing special about it because I just thought I was going to see him the weekend after that like I had before. I actually think the last thing I said to him was "I'll see you next weekend".

Weekend after weekend came and I still didn't see him. I would always ask about him at first but soon I realized that his very name repulsed my sister and mother so I just stopped asking after a while. Whenever I saw a pickup truck similar to his my heart would jump but then plummet when I realized it wasn't him. I can't go to FunSpot without thinking of him and I still can't go fishing with anyone else because It doesn't feel right. I don't exactly recall when I accepted the fact he was gone for good, because it was years after he left.

I was finally told the truth some time later. The awful truth. He left for Colombia without so much as a warning. Then I learned why he left and I was just as repulsed as my mom and sister. They would always tell me I could talk to them about how I felt but I avoided bringing his name up knowing what he did to my family.

I always described him leaving like me being torn in half. He always understood me and I couldn't stand to believe he was the monster he was. It's sad, but I wish my mom told me he died. That way he could've still been my hero and I wouldn't have had to live with years of bitterness and resentment. So, I started telling everyone that he died, so they wouldn't have to ask questions and I tried to convince myself that if I said it enough I would believe my own lie. Sad thing is, I did believe it after a while.

Sometimes, even now, I like to think what he's doing and if he's thinking of me.  On his birthday I wonder if he thinks of the presents I gave him or cards I've written him. I wonder if he even remembers my birthday. I used to talk about him with a mix of sadness and hatred because even though I wanted to hate him for what he did, I still loved him and would've given anything just to hear his voice. Now when I think about him, I feel indifferent, almost kind numb. I've gotten so used to living without him, that I almost feel nothing towards him anymore. It's like that Killers song, "My heart don't beat the way it used to and my eyes don't recognize you no more". But it doesn't mean I don't wish things would've ended differently.

Like I said, it's easier to pretend like it's all in my head. You can't miss someone that never existed.