Chasing Butterflies (29 page)

W
ith the same backpack over my shoulder I came here with—what feels like forever ago—and my leather journal tucked under my arm, I make my way toward the gate, feeling freer than I’ve ever felt since Daddy’s death.

I’m going home.

Crystal and her mom will be at the airport waiting for me with open arms, welcoming me back home, where I’ve always belonged.

I am leaving behind every bad memory of being here in New Jersey. But I am taking back with me some good memories, too, like my brief time with Shawn.

He was my lifeline when I felt myself sinking.

He saved me.

And I can never, ever, forget him for that.

Oh, and that night on the beach, we’d kissed the sweetest kiss I’d ever experienced, then he wrapped his arm around me as we both stared out at the endless expanse of the shimmery Atlantic ocean under a full moon, and watched the waves crest against the shore.

It was a beautiful moment. One I will cherish, always.

But we both knew nothing would ever come of it. We’re from two different sides of the world. And, honestly, he reminds me too much of Omar. His—uh, um, how do they say—his
swag
, that is. I kept seeing my mother’s face, and thinking I don’t want to end up in a romance similar to what she had with Omar. That kiss on the beach was enough for me.

So much has happened since losing Daddy. I miss him more than I imagine is humanly possible and I can’t wait to lie in the grass, kiss his headstone, and be near him again. I lost both of my parents. And, yes, I miss my mom, too. But not the way I miss Daddy. Maybe because I had sixteen years of my life with him, ten years more than what I had with my mom. The memories run deeper with Daddy.

I don’t care what anyone says. Julian Daniels is the only father I have.
Have
as in the present tense, because, although he’s physically gone, he is still alive inside of me. His memory is stamped in my brain, inscribed over my heart.

Nothing can take that from me. Not a judge. Not a blood test. Not some stupid ole adoption papers. Nothing.

Omar may be my biological father. But he will never be my
real
father.

Ever.

He’s not
built—
as they say—for parenting.

I only have one father.

One Daddy.

And he’s gone. But never, ever, forgotten.

I look back at Omar again. He’s not a bad person. He’s just not someone I wish to know. Not right now, anyway. Maybe one day.

Still, I’m glad I know the truth. Aunt Terri—whom I still haven’t heard from—was right. I had a right to know. However, there’s also a part of me that wishes I didn’t know. In knowing, it made me feel like I’d been living a lie. But then Daddy’s smiling face pops in my head and I know everything about him is, and was, real. And the truth is, he loved me unconditionally. And, no matter what, I’ll always be his little girl. His butterfly.

As I glance back over my shoulder, and take Omar in one last time before boarding my flight, I wave.

He waves back, a sadness flooding his eyes as if he knows I am never coming back here. Ever.

I smile.

He smiles.

We both know.

There’s nothing here for me.

I’d left my life
and
heart back in California.

And now I am going home to reclaim them both.

I hand my ticket to the agent, then disappear through the passageway leading to the plane. I let out a soft sigh as I slip my bag off of my shoulder and slide into seat 2C in first class, courtesy of Crystal’s mom. I spoke to her this morning to confirm everything. And during our telephone conversation she mentioned that she’d gotten in touch with Daddy’s attorney. He’s drawing up papers and presenting them to the courts recommending she be granted physical custody of me until my eighteenth birthday, while he continues to oversee my trust fund until my twenty-first birthday.

I’m ecstatic.

When the plane finally ascends into the sky, it’s as if my own wings are stretching. Spreading. I gaze out of the tiny window at all the bright, puffy clouds floating in the sky and imagine Daddy, Mommy, and Nana holding hands. I can almost feel their smiles on me.

My time in New Jersey, though brief, was one of the longest experiences of my young life. I’m not mad that I came, though. I’m actually glad I did. I harbor no regrets.

It broadened my horizons.

Gave me new perspective.

And has helped me evolve into my true self.

I really feel like I’m a whole other person because of it.

A new being.

Daddy said to never be afraid to spread my wings and soar.

And I’m not. I am jumping out of my storm.

Peeling back layers of skin, and metamorphosing into everything Daddy has always encouraged me to be. There’s nothing (or no one) that can give me what I’ve always had. Love. God, I miss Daddy so, so bad. But I know, in time, I’m going to be okay. But, for now, everything I’ll ever need lies within me, and all around me. Daddy’s love and his memory live on forever inside of me.

I will never stop loving him. Or holding onto the memories of what the last sixteen years of my life has been like having him as a father. I know what unconditional love is because of him. That will always be with me.

I settle back in my seat and wipe tears from my face. But this time they’re happy tears. But for some reason Sha’Quita’s face appears in my head, then her mother, Kee-Kee’s. Good or bad, they’ve both left impressions, prints in my sand. Taking a deep breath, I take a moment to pull my words together. Then open my journal, and remove the cap from my pen and write:

Pen poised over the page, I stop writing, then do something I never imagined I’d do. I say a silent pray for all the Sha’Quitas in the world, wishing,
no,
hoping, they one day find peace of mind, peace of heart, and, most importantly, self-love.

I inhale. Exhale. Then write:

 

 

 

 

 

 

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enhance your group’s reading of
CHASING BUTTERFLIES.