Backpack weighing her down, as she crossed over the threshold, she wouldn't recall this moment either. Everything felt so normal. Nothing special, even as she turned to see her father sleeping on the couch. He wasn't supposed to be here. It was mid-afternoon. He should be at work, not sleeping sitting up. His chin against his chest, as if no one was home. The slow inhale and exhale of his chest proved that he was. It was relieving, but at the same time it still annoyed her. This was her time, and now she had to be especially quiet.
Closing the door, she paused almost forgetting to lock it. But this was one of those things that was ingrained into her from a young age. Always lock up behind yourself. You never know who or what could be lurking. It had caused her to get into trouble a few times in the past. Her mother not having her key and being left outside on her birthday as they went shopping late for gifts. Another story for another time. Memories that were unwanted due to the nature of them. How easy it was to recall the painful ones rather than the happy ones sometimes. Each lit up by a song or a photograph. The scent of his in the air. It was a special, particular scent that she used to complain about and gain laughter over. One he would claim was much like her own temper. The hormones of a teenage girl.
Sneakers were always worried about on the tile floor. They always seemed to give her away as she moved. Then again, so did bare feet, but her mother never wanted them ruining their socks on it. With all that was tracked in and out, the rugs were scattered about being the only refuge from the chill of it. Too much to keep up, but no one was willing to change it out for carpet. Time and money no one wanted to bother with. Work had been enough. Whatever had gone on, Rachel figured her parents had been arguing or he had been up all night again. He wasn't home last night when she went to bed, not here this morning when she was off to school. The lunch she made him each night, had also been untouched. Each leaving enough questions in her mind, but no one to ask them to.
Off to her room to drop off her backpack, and then the bathroom for the usual use. A much needed relief given the walk she just had. Driving was a luxury, a right, her father would tell her. Promises for a car, specifically a Mustang, while her mother looked down at them both over it. Plans to be made, but nothing to come of it. A driving exam to be taken in weeks time. He had always had these great ideas, these inspirations for a better life, but always wanted her to follow him. To be proud of him and all that he did manage to do. To make up for times he missed out of her life. Those moments that a father should be there for his daughter. But work came first. Making and keeping this life, it held its own purpose. A dreamer with so much potential, where she felt the loss of such things. They were trivial to her, where she wished he were here for her. Not sleeping there on the couch, but there to actually want to spend time with her outside of what went on at the funeral home.
The moment she was out of the bathroom, there was a loud knock. Full of authority and obviously a stranger. The blinds were down and it was difficult to see anything beyond the light that came flickering through. Unwilling to go away, unwilling to wait on her, another knock came. Words she would never recall hearing. Just enough to startle her, as she opened the door. Only enough to barely see her. A teenager standing at her door. Her memory holding a sea of officers, all in uniform. The few at the door, the others at the fence. There were ones coming back around, some moving, some still. All eyes on her. Panic set in, not knowing what to do or what was going on.
Big brown eyes in shock, she would later imagine herself as a cartoon, on the brink of insanity. This couldn't be happening. Where was her mother? Why wasn't her dad awake? They spoke his name and she stilled. There was no breathing, not in nor out. A name she would never wish to hear again, to see, to read, after all she would follow. The pain that would come of it as she stood there in silence. She stepped back, not to let them in, but as if a blow had finally come. Knocking the breath out of her, the last one she held.
He would never forgive her for her weakness, she was sure of it. The harsher words and questions over it later, she didn't mean to. She didn't know what to do. This wasn't normal. There was no training for this. The way her gaze automatically turned to the man in question, not to point him out, but wanting help. Some sort of back up. To say this isn't happening, it was a nightmare she was living through. There was no warrant shown, nothing but slowly moving her to the side. Pushing her out of the way. As if they were meant to guard her, but they weren't. She was no better than a vase or potted plant. Movable and unnecessary. A decoration, as they went in for the meal that was on the table. Her father's sleeping form.
Hair fell in her face, as she felt so ashamed. No one would answer her questions, explain what was going on. But she knew, she knew as they lifted the man up, speaking his rights to him. A half awake, unknowing, barely movable man being pulled to his feet. Handcuffs being placed on him, as he mumbled incoherently. Tears welled up in her eyes, a wave of pain washing over her. This wasn't her life, this couldn't be real. Except when he looked at her as they pushed him past her and out the door. The fear that was left between them. Not for her, never for her. She was the strong one that no one ever thought anything of when it came to needs. Rachel was taught to take care of herself, knew how to move around the house alone. But he was now being taken away from her, right out of her life, as if he had truly never been there. There was no hope left, not for anything. No one would tell her why. She was just some kid.
No one would watch her crumble. No one else would be allowed to see her pain over this entire incident. Swallowing all of these feelings, of the pity, she grew angry. The tears could fall where they wanted to, find some path to stream down her cheeks. They would go ignored, as she rushed to the phone to call her mother. A woman that would do nothing but cry, screaming into the phone, begging why. There were no answers to give. If anyone held an idea here, it should have been her. What secrets were being held back now? This wasn't protection, this was simply a means of ignorance.
Rachel didn't believe what they said, nor what he was convicted of. This wasn't her father. He was innocent, and he had told her as much. But this was all too much. To sit there, with the sleeves of her hoodie pulled down, tugging the cuffs of it into the balls of her hands. A barrier to allow her to clench her fists without anyone noticing anything about what she was doing. The pain she was trying to release from her smaller frame. Big brown eyes looking up, as her name was spoken, but her face tilted down. A fight against herself to want to actually communicate anything. It couldn't be what she felt, it had to be for them. What they needed to hear and not her own internal battles. She hated this.
This time, it was different. Why couldn't anything be normal, average, and allow for a type of regularity? Before her mother would leave her to her own fate, this is what she had to face she was left to suffer that much more. The school identification told the officer all he needed to know.
"She's underage. He has a restriction since the trial. No children allowed to visit." The words spoken as the man stared almost blankly at the screen before him. The note flagged for visitors. There had been no notification on this, on the change this would create. The questions would go unanswered as they didn't understand any of it either. It wasn't their job. A phone number to call was slid in her mother's direction, and Rachel left to sit in the waiting room, unable to go back. No wire bras, no belts, special care taken to what clothes she wore inside. Every precaution taken to not lose this visit, and she lost it anyway. All for being that kid she was looked to be, pushed around months before for being. The one at the door.
This was just another painful reminder of just what already happened and what would be to come. Nothing to be seen, just thrown at her because no one wanted to give her the information. She was to be kept safe by others means and not her own. She wasn't going to stand for being protected. Taking care of yourself, that was where you put your foot down. Helping others that wanted it or needed it, she could understand, but this was a whole different ballgame.
She felt like a character on a television show, but also something else. A viewer. Locked inside of her own little bubble. Everyone wanted to either pop it or build up the walls around her. There were people everywhere. Everyone in a rush to be called or to get in before they stopped allowing it. The wait took long enough just to get to the doors for the next set of people. Children screaming and crying, wanting to do more than to sit there in either their ratty clothes or their Sunday best. Visits to see their fathers, grandfathers, and uncles. There were more, she was sure of it, whatever mom was there to see. It was another lifestyle. Some of them it was obvious how often they had been here. The way they moved about the room, how they knew just where to go. Would this be them soon? She didn't want it. To be prepared for each time they checked under the car when they came in and left, or how they wanted the trunk unlatched.
She wasn't the criminal, yet here, she was one. All because she wanted to visit one. Were these people so easy to manipulate? That their whole lives would be based upon these deeds they were convicted of by other people? Judgments were made by her that went beyond the superficial. There was so much to read from someone, she learned that from him. It all began with the dead. Not just the way they died, but the way they lived. The clothing they would come in with, the items that might get lost in the process. Forgotten and left behind in pockets that were missed. What wounds were found, the damage that was maintained due to keeping the body cool. Positioning that helped in giving the families a better open casket experience. Even going as far as seeing off the ones to be cremated. The way the fires burned hot and how they worked in the process.
People were tools, objects and a means of gain and loss. Everything was passed around in this world like money. This was not how she wanted to live her life. There had to be a better direction, a place she could be more than this. Heart and mind clashed, it was damaging. To be tied to this place because of him. How could he do this? Who had he made a bad deal with to end up here? A father who was so sure of himself. That they couldn't convict him with what they had. The fact that they pushed through the door like that, with only a minor there. But they had him, they did and there was no way to change this now.
She wanted to go home, to be allowed to release all this she was holding in. To have that one safe place that she had lost months ago. That dark corner in a home they had to leave. There was no paying for it anymore, with all that he had been convicted of. Not enough money to break through that line. They needed something even smaller, not that it would matter. The way her mother would go, the way she would end up as well. Like a fork in the road. Each of them going their separate ways, yet knowing just where it happened. A reminder for the rest of time, a place to go questioning was so wrong with her that they did this to her. Because she was strong, or because she was weak? To leave her here and never come back? Abandoned and left in a world much like this room. Overcrowded and unwanted because she didn't know what to do. They would have found him at some point. This wasn't on her. It was their fault.