The Day I Rise

* Daya Nicole Johnston *

Day One – December 3, Monday

Dear Dad, I wish you were here and that I could tell you that I love and miss you. And not just me, we all do: Dennis, Mom, even the mail carrier. I love you and if I knew where you moved to or if you answered any of my calls, I could tell you person-to-person, but I guess you do not want that. You never uttered a goodbye to me, and I don't know why. Despite that, I am putting this into the universe and maybe, you will reply. I miss you, dad. Please, I am begging you to come back to us. I promise I will be here, ready to accept you back with open arms. I love you.

I wrote that first journal entry while thinking of my father after he departed from our family a few weeks ago. I promised myself that I would stop calling; maybe even throw away my phone, just to eliminate the temptation. I knew he didn't want to talk to me, or he would have answered the first time, or maybe even the sixth. Those last couple of weeks have given me the gift of a prominent fear that I haven't felt in the sixteen years that I have been alive thus far.

Three months prior, I awoke as Daya Nicole Johnston, and then I started questioning if I should even associate myself with that last name. My dad is Native American, and the loving Samuel. He and my mom, Terra Johnston, haven't been doing much lately besides turning my entire world upside down by finalizing their separation after years of being seemingly happy. Obviously, they weren't, and I wished I hadn't been so oblivious to the war inside my home.

As of last week, my father moved out to an apartment on the more urban side of Portland, Maine. In the past, I couldn't ever imagine my parents splitting up but getting a separation and moving out doesn't take seconds. Thinking back on it there were obvious clues I could've noticed, like how family trips were few and far between and the holidays didn't provide as much joy as they used to.

Speaking of holidays, this year was our first Thanksgiving without him, and I feel this unimaginable pain from the 'loss' of my father if you can even call it that. I missed him more than anyone can imagine, and I'm sure my older brother Dennis felt the same. When all of this first started, I imagined he and I would lean on one another for support. However, I was unfortunately wrong.

That morning I rose with a feeling in my chest that had woken me up every morning: despair. An unshakable feeling that accompanied me on my track through life. It followed my mind and dissolved any shred of happiness I could allow myself to feel. The last thing I wanted to do was move away from the serenity of my homely bed and be confronted by the series of heartbreaks that surrounded me.

Obstinately, I walked over to my closet and changed into my outfit for the day. After getting dressed, I sat down on my day bed and looked out of my window and into the neighborhood. The place I had grown up in and loved for years. I smiled as I saw the street light where I had my first kiss, remembering the moment from my life when I smiled uncontrollably like a freak.

My best friend Jay's house sat down the street from mine, staring at me. Further, down I could see the big chestnut tree at the park that Jay and I would sneak off to in the middle of the night and discuss our plans for world domination. I lifted my window and felt the cool breeze caress my face, breathing life into my body, and making me feel a sense of hope again.

Every day without a dad, I had been trying to regain a sense of normalcy and take control of my anxiety. I had been taking anxiety medicine on and off since I was twelve and every day for a few weeks now. Though I despise doing it, it keeps me balanced, and I fear that without it... well, I don't know what would've happened.

Stepping away from the window, I spotted medicine bottles on my nightstand near my journal. The prescription bottles glared at me from afar, as I sighed, wishing that this was not my life. A life filled with pill-popping and the constant fear of myself.

Even though I had tried, this melancholy feeling of dashed hope has been sitting on my chest, impairing my mood and that of those around me. Today, however, could change things for better or for worse.

As I stepped out into the hallway, I was greeted by the presence of my charming older brother Dennis. "Good morning brother," I voiced with a smile and my arms wide, awaiting a good morning hug.

"Hey Little Miss, do me a favor and leave the happy-go-lucky attitude in your room, okay," Dennis declared as he continued to talk to someone on the phone.

"Look, babe, whatever you heard was a lie. How could you believe that over me," he said as I realized he was talking to his girlfriend, Michelle.

Michy used to babysit me when I was younger and happened to be an incredibly sweet girl. He had been dating/cheating on Michelle for about two years now, and I created a conspiracy theory as to why.

Obviously, Dennis used her as a distraction to avoid thinking about our troubled family life, and I understood that Denny and I dealt with things differently but Michy didn't deserve to be used as a pawn in his game. Our relationship was wonderful before.

However, since Dad moved out Dennis started ignoring me to deal with our situation solo. Not talking and laughing with him had almost been as traumatic to me as the separation itself. He was my comforter and the best big brother I could've ever imagined having.

He was eighteen and would be graduating high school this year: Grades, girls, and all of our family drama, I could definitely see why he chose to go through this on his own, but there were other ways.

I wanted to tell Michy what he was doing, but honestly, it was none of my business, plus destroying my brother's life didn't sound like a Monday activity.

Rolling my eyes, I skipped down the hallway, hoping for the rest of the day to go better. I walked downstairs and was greeted by my mother, Terra, sitting at the kitchen table.

"Good morning Daya," she chirped as she sipped her coffee and watched the seven o'clock news in a jubilant fashion.

"Are you excited for school today," are the next words that flowed out her mouth and into my ear. I nodded my head in reply even though I wasn't at all. High school had its own distinct set of issues that fell into a subordinate place on the priority spectrum. My mom and I casually talked about school and ate breakfast - well, tried to stomach breakfast.

Honestly, Dad was the cook of the family, but I have been trying to catch up the slack, unsuccessfully. As mom and I were vocalizing our feelings about school, and work, my real attention was elsewhere. I couldn't help but stare at the seat next to Dennis, our father's seat, or old seat I should've said. I knew Dennis was hurting because of our father's disappearance and I was too.

As my mom was talking, I became numb to her words, focusing deeply on everything that came to mind when I thought of my father. I awoke a few months ago and my dad was gone - poof.

He called me during lunch that day and gave me a brief explanation of what happened that consisted of separation, sad-sad-sad moving out, sad-sad-sad, and his undying love for his children, again sad-sad-sad.

Tearing me away from my thoughts, I heard an, "Ugh!" Which roared from upstairs and was quickly followed by Dennis' phone as it collided against each individual step on the staircase.

The phone cascaded downwards before crash-landing a few feet away from my mom and me, resulting in small pieces of glass collapsing together on the ground ahead of us. A tiny squeal escaped my mouth and I felt my heart plummet to my feet in sheer shock.

Looking over, I saw my mother's face modify from the joy of our previous conversation to an anger-ridden scowl. Rage in tow, my mother's tone elevated as she bellowed, "Dennis, down here now!"

I felt my body shake, and I whispered to myself, "You're okay." As I did every time, I felt my emotions leaving my control.

After a few minutes with no reply, my body stopped quivering, and I tried to change the subject, anticipating news about my father's status. Maybe it was a bad idea, but I begged to ask the question I couldn't and shouldn't ask.

"Mom, have you talked to Dad recently," I asked with hope drilling out of my eyes. My mother stared at me in silence, but I could see that she was thinking about what to say.

"Yeah, what've you been doing except annoying me," Dennis inquired as he stomped down the stairs, shocking the both of us at that moment. I was so scared of the can of worms I just unleashed by opening my mouth about something that no one was ready to discuss.

"Denny, are you alright," I asked receiving no reply.

Dennis' eyes moved from the fear written across every open surface in the room to his phone. He walked over to where it was and gently touched the destroyed product.

With a sigh, our mom walked over and placed a hand on Dennis' shoulder to give him solace. But why? Denny is going to be nineteen in a few months and has to deal with his anger better. How does he get comfort from destroying a phone? A few seconds later, my mom told us to leave for school to which Dennis refused in a calm manner.

"No," he sternly stated while looking at my mother in her eyes.

"I'm not my dad. I'm not going to let you force me out of my house. If you want me to leave so badly, you can call the police," Denny dared with a vein in his neck popping.

He gave my mom another glance before turning to walk back to his room. But my mom grabbed his arm in a tight grip, stopping him and expressing her dominance.

"No Dennis, you don't own anything around here, you do what I say," she argued.

I watched in awe as they went back and forth, spitting out hurtful words towards each other. I was fully aware they would both regret it in time. Dennis pulled himself away from my mother and she jerked back crumbling into her seat. Denny scoffed at us and walked back upstairs in protest.

A few seconds later, my mom and I heard him slam his bedroom door in a fit of rage. Neither my mom nor I knew exactly what to do, but I knew I had a choice to make: to fight alongside my brother or choose to deal with my feelings later.

"Mom, I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. You haven't told us anything about Dad and we miss him. We're not leaving until both of us get answers," I explained to her as composed as I possibly could. I tried to look away from the pain in her eyes.

Expeditiously, I bolted upstairs and refused to leave with Dennis. I knocked on his door, and he immediately told me to go away, thinking that I was our mother.

"Look, I'm not going anywhere. I've devised many ways to torture you into opening this door. Number one, I'll sing that song you hate," I spoke and the door swung open. He pulled me in, closing it behind me.

I told him, "If you're going to do this, we're doing this together. Everything concerning our family we'll do together."

He nodded his head in agreement. Denny turned around and locked the door before I could get another word out. I ran into his embrace as I had done many times before. I knew he was hurt, and I would give my last breath for him to receive an inkling of comfort.

* Hi, thank you so much for taking the time to read my story. I will be periodically uploading my book on Wattpad. It would mean a lot to me if y'all would support me. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you continue to enjoy it.

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