seven

I regain consciousness at 7:02, at least, that’s what time my watch says it is, but I feel like I’ve been laying on the alley's soot covered ground for days. I struggle to get up, and soon realize that whoever it was who beat me up, also took my skates and my cell phone. I don’t really care about losing my phone, in our old neighborhood my phone was stolen all the time. But my skates... those were my life. It took four months of teaching the least desirable age group, the 8 & 9 brats, for me to finally afford to buy a pair of skates that nice. And now they’re gone. Right before competition.

By now, all of the blood in my body had flooded my face and I was furious. This town was supposed to be safe! I thought I had finally escaped crime and violence, but now it seemed like it was never going to go away. “FUCK YOU!” I screamed at the ash-covered wall. 


Mom promised me that our lives would improve if we moved here, but I haven’t noticed any improvements. We’re still poor, I still have no friends, I’m still getting mugged, and my dad is still dead. The only consistent thing in my life was skating and now that’s gone too!


I try not to think about him much, my dad. I'm usually unsuccessful. Dad was wrongfully murdered by a drunk police officer when I was twelve. I try my best to block him out of my memory because nothing good ever comes from my mourning, but two things always sends me down "memory lane": unprovoked violence and the police. Now I had to deal with both.


I was there when my father was murdered. I saw everything.


Dad and I were walking home from the library. The latest novel in our favorite series had been released three days prior and dad and I were the first on the waiting list of fifteen people. I asked Dad how come we were number one. “I know some people in the underground book market,” he told me in his usual joking manner. Dad was a starving artist: a writer. He didn’t contribute much to the family’s income, but he brought Mom and I unbelievable happiness. He would go days without eating (without our knowing) so he could afford to pay for my skate lessons. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he would always tell me. I used to think he was just being a dad, a big cheese-ball, but now I get it. Even today, I’ve never met anyone or loved anyone as great as my father. 


As we walked home from the library, we each took turns trying to predict what we thought would happen in the novel, when, across the street, a policeman fell to the ground. Dad turned to me and told me to stay where I was and, above all else, not to begin reading the book without him. He ran across the street to help the officer. I smiled and pretended to read the pages. 


Dad reached down to help the officer up, but the man slapped away his hand. He started yelling at my dad, but Dad tried to play it off, like everything was okay. He just smiled and tried to offer his help to the officer again. Bad call. The officer tugged at my father’s feet and knocked him to the ground. 


Obviously, at this point, I was in hysterics; tears were violently running down my cheeks and I was screaming for someone to help my dad, the man who was being beat up by the cops. People pushed past me like I wasn’t even there. I didn’t understand why no one would help. I ran up to men and pulled as hard as I could on their coats, but they casually brushed me off. Like I was an annoying gnat that was loudly buzzing in their ear.


It wasn’t until four days later that I came out of shock. It was then that my father’s death was explained to me. The social worker told me that my father had been shot in the head twice by the drunken cop. Since then, I've never been able to face the police. Mom can't either. 


The murder changed every aspect of our lives. It’s the reason why Mom can’t hold onto a boyfriend. Why she cycled through through men at a lightning pace and why she's since decided to give up on dating; she’s still struggling to find anyone who even comes close to matching up with how great Dad was. It’s the reason I don’t have any friends. I never snapped back to the person I was before the murder. There’s no more joy or laughter left in my life. Skating and writing are the only two pleasures in my life that didn’t completely die when Dad did.