Little Masterpiece

From the day I was born, you made me your greatest symphony

Whole notes of happiness, never taking a whole rest

Because you thought my laughter was beautiful

You conducted my ups and downs, bragging to anyone and everyone about your little masterpiece

Age six, I screamed

Your fingers moved across my sides as if they were piano keys

You composed my squealing laughter into art

The tickle monster as you claimed to be was attacking me and you just laughed

Eventually you returned to being dad before my joy could turn into the pain of aching sides and sore lungs

Within four years you became less of a father and more of a monster

The once felice songs now had trumpets blaring at forte

You pummeled me with rough sixteenth notes and ugly mixes of tones

The alcohol you hid beneath the front seat of your car turned you into a stranger

Stinging screams from a sot who couldn’t seem to care less about the thought of his little girl falling apart

Caused tears that tasted like wrong notes to roll to the corners of my mouth

The day that you started calling me worthless, fat, annoying, stupid, a waste

I knew you would never transform back from a monster again

When you had your second seizure, I refused to come visit the hospital room

I claimed that I didn’t care, that you weren’t my dad

I prayed that the conductor that I had always looked to for guidance would just disappear

You seemed to do just that the night mom kicked you out

You texted, called, begged for me to talk to you again

Mom tried to force me to accept your calls, updated me that you were doing better

But her suggestions could never silence the haunting feeling of worthlessness that you instilled in me

I blamed myself for the words you called me

And quieted quarrels between you and mom

And the scent of vodka on your breath

And after your third seizure

I blamed myself for your death

I remember panicked paces I took to your room the day mom told me would be your last

I remember the silent stillness of your body as nurses told me you could still hear me

I remember the tainted tears that stained your hospital gown as I whispered

I’m sorry, I love you, please hold on

I remember the cold clamminess of your hand that I held for the last few breaths

I remember the fluttering flutes that beated for your heart going slower and slower until the room fell silent

That night, I realized that the monster was never you

The monster was the lying liquid that would lace your mind

It was the hammering headache that would hold you hostage from joining me for sunday morning cartoons

It was what caused the beautiful symphony between father and daughter to end

Now, four years later, I have taken your position as the composer

I am stringing words together into a symphony

I am trying to make you proud

By showing anyone and everyone

That I will always, no matter what, be your little masterpiece