Free Don't You Remember by Lana Davison Page B

this stage. It was during this time that I had first noticed my father was sober.
    My dad knocked lightly on my bedroom door. “Jen, can come in?”
    “Yes, come in.”
    He perched on the side of my bed while I lay on my back reading. Using no words at all my dad combed his fingers through the top of my hair looking out of the window. I registered this was his way of caring, he felt for me, for my pain. I was surprised he had even noticed.
    He looked down at me. “It gets easier,” he said, getting up and leaving the room.
    I must have stayed in my room for hours, reading, crying and sleeping from exhaustion, from trying to fight my heavy heart. My father had returned with a bowl of tomato soup he said he had made himself.
    “You must eat, Jennifer. Try and get something in your stomach,” he said patting me on the head like a pet owner pats their animal for being good, for doing as they say. I shifted myself into a seated position, took the soup bowl in my hands, picked up a soon and sipped on it slowly. I looked at my dad, my eyes expressing the thanks my mouth could not.
    “It is OK, my love,” he said, understanding.
    It had appeared to me that my parents had not even noticed I had been in a relationship with Johnny. Their wild, partying ways continued without any consequence for me. What had made my father sober up? What had made him change? Too tired to venture from my room, I placed my soup bowl on my bedside table and returned to bed, lying on my side curled up, looking out the window, at the pouring rain. I shut my eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
    The days and nights were long, longer than I had ever known them to be. I wished the days to go faster but it was like watching a kettle boil, the more you watch the time pass the longer everything takes. My father visited my room at meal times, bringing me food to make sure I was eating. I managed a few bites of each meal, trying to keep my strength up, but I just didn’t feel like food at all.
    One morning my father announced he was going to cook me salmon for dinner. This roused me from my melancholy – I was interested in his sudden change. My mother, on the other hand, remained the same, drinking herself silly before passing out.
    “Dad, what is going on with you? You’ve not touched a drink for a couple of weeks,” I said, finally venturing out from my bedroom and into the kitchen where my father stood drying the dishes.
    “I’m turning over a new leaf,” he said, walking over to me and squeezing my arm gently. “Jen, I want you to know I’m here for you.”
    “Why the new leaf?” I asked bewildered.
    “Because I can’t stand to see my petal sad. Looking at you the past couple of weeks has broken my heart.”
    “How did you know?”
    “It doesn’t take the brightest mind to see you are dealing with a broken heart.”
    “I’ll be all right,” I said, shrugging off my depression.
    “I don’t want you to just be all right. I want you to be happy,” he remarked as matter of a fact.
    “I will…” I said, thinking about how I felt. “It’s just too soon, but I’ll get there. I have no choice but to get there.” I smiled a little, realizing I had just spoken the truth. Things would get better in time.
    “Well, if you need anything, you let me know. In the meantime I’m going to look after my little girl, make her a nice meal, because she deserves it.”
    “I can’t remember the last time you cooked for me. It must be years.”
    “Yes, well, I’m ashamed about that. Things will change.”
    “So, are you are going to get a job?”
    “Yes. I am going to try.”
    “And if you can’t? Will you start drinking again? Like you have done so many times.”
    “No. I will get a job, Jen, I promise you that. Remember, a new leaf.”
    “No offense, Dad, but you have said that before.”
    “This time is for real.”
    “What about Mum?”
    “What about her?”
    “She’s still drinking. Can you do this on your own?”
    “Yes, I can.