To you

Dear Ryne,
Have you ever missed someone so much you cried every night, asking your ever-so-absent “god” why-oh-why he would take this precious person away from you? It was as if “god” was cutting out a part of me and leaving my wounds bloody and infected.
That's how it felt when my dad moved away.
I don't remember how long he was gone, and I don't remember why he left, I just remember the fact that he was not present in my life for a seemingly long period of time.
AND I HATED HIM FOR IT. He left me. Me. Amber. His little girl. His angel. His baby. He left me with my mom and my grandparents. Like he didn't care for me. Like he didn't love me. He just packed his bags and left, with no regards to how I felt about it. Without anything. He just left, and my mom was glad. I hated her for being glad. I wanted to scream and yell at her asking “Why did you just let him leave me alone?!?!” I felt like I had no one. I felt like I could trust no one. Without my dad my whole world was crumbling down, falling apart, the pages of my life being ripped and burned to ashes, and stomped on, and consumed, and thrown up again. I felt my world spinning. And I couldn't do anything. I just cried and wished he would have taken him with me, wish he could whisk me away from the torment my life had become without him.
But at the same time I didn't.
After all, he left me. But even though I felt like I resented him, I didn't. I questioned his love for me, but I didn't hate him. After all, he was my father, and I knew my dad, and he didn't do things for no apparent reason. There was something behind his whole situation, why he left me, and even though I didn't know the reason at the time, I already suspected my mom was the reason. And from there, my resentment for my mom began.

Since Dad left and Mom had no back-up plan, really, we moved in with my grandparents who I call Nana and Papa. They live in South Whittier, near Ceres Elementary School, the school I attended from kindergarten to fifth grade.
The only significant event that ever really happened in Elementary school was in first grade, the day I met Arturo Quintanilla. I hung out with a group of guys basically, and one other girl who was just like me, accept taller, named Danielle. We always played on the jungle gym and pretended to be super hero's, cowboys, spacemen, and other various characters. We were also in the same class, Mrs. Scott's class. One day Mrs. Scott announced that we had a new student named Arturo Quintanilla. I was the only student who had an empty desk next to me, so naturally he sat next to me, and naturally, Mrs. Scott said that it was my job to make sure Arturo was to get well acquainted with other students and that I teach him how to behave, and on top of all of that, I had to show him where to go for lunch and how to line up for recess and other things. This was a big responsibility, and being the lazy student I was, I didn't like it. But I smiled and I was polite, and I taught him every necessary lesson to survive at Ceres Elementary School.
But I eventually grew on him. I found out he was obsessed with Pokemon like I was, he collected cards like I did, he liked reading like I did, he played the same kinds of adventure games with his friends from his old school like I did with my friends at this school. I was so amazed that someone had all of these similar qualities that, naturally, he became my best friend. We went everywhere together, did everything together, until the teasing started.
“Arturo and Amber sitting in a tree, K-I-S-SI-N-G!” Kids would shout when they saw us. Surprisingly Arturo ignored people promptly, and nothing changed in our relationship. I was so confused, I thought I would lose him to his other guy friends and he would just ignore me, but he didn't. He didn't care that we were being teased. It was just Arturo and Amber against the world of six-year-old brats, side-by-side in our Pokemon-loving splendor.
And our friendship grew from there. The next year he was put in a different class, but our friendship still thrived. Then in third grade we were put in the same class and our friendship strengthened. Then we were in the same class in fourth grade, and by then I was thinking that we were always going to be friends until, one day, in the middle of the school year, he told me “I'm moving after this summer.”
I can't tell you how long I cried. My Arturo, my bestest friend ever, was moving away. Just like my dad. But Arturo cried right along with me. He didn't want to move. He argued with his mom for days, telling her he can't move because we were both supposed to go to Granada Middle School together and then Cal Hi. His mom, unfortunately took him away still, all the way to Texas, and our friendship was severed.
The last memento I have from him, in my fourth grade yearbook, is an insult, followed with a 'just kidding'. That made my year. Then he moved, and I haven't seen him since.
So, you see, Ryne, Arturo was my best friend until you strolled along. I haven't had a best friend since fourth grade. I was so afraid they would leave me high and dry, so to speak, without a backwards glance. You waltzed into my life though, your knowledge of video games and your lack of knowledge about music drew me in. I trust you. I know you. And I know you won't leave me high and dry, because, well, your not a fourth grader, and you just aren't that kind of guy.

After that I got new friends, I sulked over Arturo, I ate, I drank, I slept, I played. Then my dad came back into my life. He rented an apartment by the Jack-In-The-Box on the corner of Telegraph and Lefingwell. To be closer to me, I suppose. He worked at Suzuki. Every Wednesday we would go to La Mirada Park and play tennis, or roller blade, or do something fun.
Then Mom informed me that her, Dad, and I would be moving to an apartment in La Habra. I was so excited! I would be able to see my dad every day! I wouldn't have to worry about losing him because he would always be there with me.
So we lived in those apartments for about a year or so. I got my own PC, a huge, ugly one with OS Windows 95. At the time it was the best thing ever. This is where my internet addiction started. I looked at all kinds of things, but I mainly listened to music. I was into all sorts of generes of music, especially Hilary Duff. Then I find out Mom is pregnant. At first I was excited, then I was a little perplexed that I would be acquiring a sibling at the age of nine. It was strange, but I was still excited.
So my brother, Adam, is born. Everyone is so excited. I remember the first time I changed his diaper, I undid the sticky little tabs, and doing! My little baby brother has a boner. I panicked and yelled “Mom!” Mom came rushing in and saw me, wide-eyed and afraid, and then she glanced down at my brother, little penis sticking up. She laughed and told me that to go in the other room as she changed his diaper.
Then the apartment buildings we lived in burned to a crisp. I remember the night that happened, too. My mom and dad freaked out. My dad yelled at me to get up and to bring my blanket. I grabbed my Beanie Baby cat, Nip, instead, and we ran outside of the apartments. My mom was holding Adam, and she was crying. I looked at the building in horror as the firefighters pulled up and started doing whatever they needed to do. Mom, Adam, and I drove to Nana and Papa's. Dad wasn't allowed there, so I don't know where he went.
Later we were told that the apartment above ours is where the fire started. Something about a fan, I don't really know the details. But it messed with some pipes so all of the apartments on the ground floor were flooded, including ours. We packed all of our things and moved back in with Nana and Papa.
A few months later my mom told me that she was pregnant again. This time, with a girl. I was so shocked and confused, because I thought my mom got surgery to “tie her tubes” I heard time and time again. Turns out she didn't. Dad was pissed, but he got over it.
On January 8th, 2003, my little sister, who I got to name Emily, was born. Mom wouldn't let me name her Autumn so I chose a simple, yet sweet, sounding name. Emily fit that category.
After that life was a fog. Adam and Emily grew up. I grew up. Mom didn't grow up, Dad was staying with my grandma. It was all good until Nana and Papa threw us out.
My mom and dad weren't together. They never got re-married, yet they were still divorced. They had their problems, whatever. But Adam and Emily were often pawned off on my Nana and Papa because Mom couldn't afford Day Care and Dad was too busy working. Then Adam and Emily became “problem children,” according to Nana and Papa, and sure enough, yeah, they were, but they blamed it on my dad, who rarely saw them. I was always defensive when it came to my dad so I argued with Nana and Papa all of the time, because they always told my mom, and pretty much everyone on that side of the family that my dad was a bad person and that he was a bad father. Blah, blah, blah. None of this was true! Dad always cared about us, and he always told the truth to his kids, and yes, he went away when I was little, but it was my mom's fault that he did. But no one ever listened to me. I was only ten years old, I didn't know the facts. (However, I did know the facts, just not as in-depth as I know them now.) My dad relented Nana and Papa's lies with the fact that he wasn't allowed to raise his own children, Nana and Papa did, so they must have learned to behave they way they were behaving from Nana and Papa, not him. Eventually my mom took his side resulting in Nana and Papa throwing us out, and we all moved in together, again, except this time we moved into a house (where I currently live). Being mixed in with this stuff was heavy, but things got better. Mom wanted to be close to Nana and Papa, Dad hated this idea, but since my mom was buying the house, he would have to deal with whatever decision she made. She decided to move into this okay-looking townhouse in a gated community. Dad hated this house. He wanted us to have our own yard, he wanted us to have our own private little house, surrounded by a fence. But in order to be close to Whittier, and still have a house she could afford, this would have to do.
The house was an okay house. The drama subsided. Everything was great. I was dealing with not being the only child, or the baby of my extended family. Now I was the first born child, and in a way, a surrogate mother, if you will. Things were looking good.