Rain

One

A story always has a beginning, everyone has one. I guess mine starts at birth, but that ain't that interesting. I was born on 4th of July, I know big day if you live in the United States, but I am placed in Denmark with my mother. I was born under water, my moms last resort to getting me out of her was in a bathtub. For as long as I can remember it has always been me and her. My father lives in the States but I never see him, according to my mother, he is too busy with his real family. He left my mom for work, told her that they would do long distancing because of his love for us, but also because he loved living in Denmark with us. It only took him six months to find another wife. He stopped sending me birthday cards when I was ten years old, but still put 30 dollars into my savings account every month. When I was thirteen I stopped picturing him, and when I was sixteen I started telling people that I did not know my father nor wanted to. When I turned seventeen my mom got sick, breast cancer, many people survive this illness, one of my moms friends even survived it, so why wouldn't she? She died when I was eighteen. After my mom passed, many questions came up, how would I survive? How would I go to school? Where would I live? But then the most unlikely thing happened at her funeral, my dad turned up;

The room was filled with people I hardly knew, my moms coworkers, so-called friends and a few family members. Everyone kept telling me how good a woman she was, and how brave I was. I had yet not cried a single tear. My aunt came over and sat with me, we did not speak, we did absolutely nothing.

Suddenly the door goes up, and my aunt starts yelling at the man in the door. Apparently he is the father I never had, and he is here to take me home with him. My aunt keeps yelling and hitting him in the chest, telling him that he couldn't just come and take me away.

I remember standing up, going over to him, and the only thing I said to him was; "Take me with you."

That was how I ended up on a plane to USA, the land of dreamers and where they come true. My father had written me a letter telling me about everything, so that I would be updated when I got there. My father wasn't rich, but he wasn't poor either, he had another son called David and a wife called Annie. They lived in a house in Florida, and had a spare room for me. He would give me a spot in a college of my choosing, and make sure I got an education. After my graduation I could do whatever I wanted to do. He just wanted to make amends, and I wanted to give him the chance to do so. I knew I always wanted to study literature, and I knew that would not be as exciting in Denmark as in the States. I took a chance with my father, but this was the chance I always wanted.

As I was walking out of the plane, I saw three people standing with the American flag, waving it like their life depended on it. My dad was in his late fourties, and clearly his new wife weren't as old as him. Annie looked young, properly looked younger than she was. Her light blonde hair was wavy, big white smile and a pair of blue jeans to match her white shirt. She looked beautiful, and could easily be a retired model. My dad had grey sprinkles in his otherwise brown hair, wrinkles around the eyes and a grey t-shirt with brown kakishorts. The younger boy next to them must be David, he looked like a younger version of my father, dressed in the same type of clothes. But something was different from the others to him, his smile was much more tense and fake than my dads and Annies. He definitely didn't want to be here, and was force to. As I walked over to them, Annie met me halfway and gave me a big hug, while she said; "I am so happy to meet you Charlotte! I can't wait to be your new mom and get to know you!" When she released me, I pulled away and looked into her incredibly blue eyes. I responded with a small and shy smile. Trying to kopi her enthusiasm. My dad came over and reached out with his hand, "Hello Charlotte, don't worry about Annie, she's just excited to meet you." I grabbed his hand, relived that he didn't show the same kind of patently love that Annie did. "Thank you Phil." I still didn't feel comfortable calling him dad.