My Very Own Happy Ending

Chapter 1

"Can you tell me about your childhood?"

Oh, sure I can , but do you really want to hear it? It seems not that my childhood was one long, horrible day, punctuated by a happy incident or two. I’ve purposley avoided trips down memory lane, with good reason, but now it’s all coming back…..

* * * *

I

‘d been practicing for hours upon hours that day, strumming my small acoustic guitat and singing the same songs over and over, blending the notes together into a bored monotone. Mom finaly commanded me to "stretch my legs" my cue not to bother her for awhile. I didn’t mind. Anything beats listening to her shriek. "Play it a little louder!" or "That notes too low!" all day.

So, I hopped and skipped down the hall to my dad’s office where he was scribbling words too big for my six-year-old mind to comprhend in an old black notebook.

"Hey sport," he said happily as I bounded throught the door. Throwing my arms around his neck I thought he looked a little pale, but this potentially important information was quickly forgotten by my young mind.

"Hi dad," I replied as I settled into his lap. "What are you doing?’ He sighed.

"Oh, just some boring grown-up work. C’mon, lets go do something fun." Smiling, I raced to the backyard and jumped onto the swings. Dad followed and pushed me higher and higher, untill I felt I could reach out and touch the clouds.

"Ashley!"

I scraped at the ground with my feet to slow my swinging as Dad gave me an apologetic look."Sorry sport. Looks like your mom wats you to practice."

"She always wants me to practice!" I whine, hugging his waist. He patted my head.

"I know. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Mom for you. Go on, " and with a soft shove he sent me on my way.

I don’t know what to do. My dad is dead. What did the doctor say? Lung cancer. Doesn’t that doctor know that I’m only seven? I don’t know what lung cancer is. Mom’s not helping at all. What with all the practicing she’s making me do I’ve barely got time to think. She talks to Grandma alot. I think she said something about "homeschooling" and "lots of talent" I wonder who she’s talking about.

Dad’s office smells clean and lemony. I’m necer supposed to, but I opened his desk drawers and looked inside. Thers a bunch of rubber bands, some sticky notes, and a picturea. A picture taken by one of those instart- photo cameras. I’t of him and me on my sixth birthday. He’s holding me up high above his head, and I’m laughing. I don’t even remember that. My eyes watered, and i slammed the desk drawer shut and flew out the door.