Hope's Story

Hope’s Story
Chapter One
Sunlight streamed from my grimy window onto my face. I opened my eyes, but quickly shut them again. I groaned and rolled over onto my side, blocking the light with my back.
I should have known that I wouldn’t get to go back to sleep. Before I could even get settled down in my bed, a loud banging filled my room.
“Hope! Get up!” My dad yelled from the hallway. At least he hadn’t come in.
I rolled back onto my back and swung my legs over my bed and sat up. I rubbed my eyes and squinted at my room. When my eyes finally adjusted, I stood up and walked over to my calendar. It was hung above my battered dresser.
There were x’s on every day of August leading up to today, August 28, my tenth birthday. What a great awakening for my first decade on the Earth. I grabbed my black sharpie and crossed off the day.
I wondered if my dad would even remember that today was my birthday. If he did, he’d probably remember it as the day his life was ruined.
See, ten years ago, I showed up on the doorstep of this very house. My dad had... I’m not sure what to call it. Let’s just say he got my mom pregnant, and she didn’t want me. Well, neither did my dad.
According to him, he had tried to give me back, but my mom wouldn’t take me. She also said that if I was put up for adoption, she would come and find my dad. I didn’t believe that, but it was probably nicer than the actual reason.
I slid open the top drawer of my dresser and pulled out a pair of ripped up jeans. I hadn’t gotten them like that; they were just so old that I’d ripped them in various places.
I walked over to my dirty closet door and pulled it open. It creaked as though it hadn’t been opened for years. I grabbed a random shirt and sweater, along with a pair of black Converse.
After I was dressed, I exited my room and walked across the hall to the bathroom. I stood outside the door while I waited for my dad to finish. It was a morning routine. Even when I was in school, I had to wait for him to leave.
After about 10 minutes, the door opened. It didn’t creak as much as my closet, but just like everything in this house, it needed some sort of fixing.
My dad walked out, his black hair gelled back to reveal a chocolate brown forehead. His almost black eyes swept over my appearance; ripped jeans, navy blue sweater and messy hair. He scowled and began to walk toward his room.
“Good morning,” I muttered to myself. I wasn’t expecting him to respond. He rarely did, even when it wasn’t “the worst day of his life”.
“’Morning, Hope,” he grumbled from the door.
I stopped. He never said my name like that. It was usually “Hope, I can’t believe you got kicked out of another school!” or “Hope, can you at least try not make the other kids cry? I have to pay for you to go to school, you know!”
I looked up, but he was already gone. I walked back into the bathroom and brushed through my curly dark brown hair. After I was done, I stared into the grimy mirror, trying to figure out what was from my mom.
I had tanned skin, but it was lighter than my dad’s. That must mean that my mom had lighter skin. I had brown eyes,that slightly resembled my father’s. They had gotten darker over the years, so I was guessing that when I was older I’d have his eyes. I had his face. I just couldn’t figure out what was from my mom except my skin. I didn’t know it was possible to look so much like one parent that you can’t even see the other. Apparently it was.
I tore myself away from the mirror and walked to the stairs. They creaked under my feet, no matter where my feet stepped.
When I got to the bottom, I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of cereal. I was eating at the scratched dining room table, my dad walked in. He looked at me, and then turned to the fridge.
“So... guess what day it is,” I said. I was hoping that he would be at least a little kinder today, since he had said ‘good morning’ to me. Ha, Hope was hoping.
“Hope, I know what day it is. It’s your birthday. It’s also the anniversary of the day my life was ruined,” my dad growled at me.
My heart felt as though it had been stepped on by a giant.
“But, Dad...” I stopped myself and started over. “I was thinking that we could, um, do something tonight. Together.”
My dad turned around.
“Hope, I have things to do. I don’t have time,” he started to walk away, holding a banana.
“That’s what you always say! You have a part time job! I don’t know where you go when you’re not working, but I don’t see how it’s so important to you can’t spend time with your daughter! On her birthday!” I jumped up from the table, spilling my cereal everywhere.
My dad was angry now.
“Hope. I don’t care if it’s your birthday. I wouldn’t care if you were getting married today. I would not have time to spend time with you, and I would not want to. That’s right, I said it. I don’t want to spend time with you. You were a mistake. I wish you hadn’t been born, and that I hadn’t met your mother,” he was using a controlled tone, as though he was trying to yell at me.
“Fine! I bet you wouldn’t even care if I ran away! I could probably leave right now and you wouldn’t care!” I certainly wasn’t trying not to yell. The neighbours could probably hear me.
“Then why don’t you do it? Huh, why don’t you leave right now?” my dad was raising his voice.
“Because staying makes you suffer more!” With that I ran to the door and stormed out, tears streaming down my face as I ran into our rundown neighbourhood.