✄- - - - - henlo! it’s ivy! this is my first project & the first part of my story, brightside - i hope you like it! chapter 1 - knock When you’ve grown up in New York City and then visit the countryside, it’s like you’ve gone deaf. Gone are the honking taxicabs and the shouting people. Here to stay are miles and miles and miles of silence and corn. My black dress shoes pinched my feet as they scuffed the dirt road. If I’d known it was going to be this hot, I would’ve worn a t-shirt and jeans, not a black dress and leggings, but I wanted to dress up to meet my dad for the first time. I looked down at the envelope in my hand, which was damp and wrinkled, and looked at the return address for the billionth time. I felt a pang of guilt as I imagined my frantic mother searching the streets of NYC, looking for me. I hadn’t told her where I was going. She wouldn’t have let me. I just hope she finds the note I wrote her. When I found the letter with his address in Mom’s suitcase, I knew I had to go see my dad. He’d sent my mother the letter two months ago. Dear Alara, It’s Daniel. Before you put this letter down, please listen to me, okay? Look, I know I’ve made some mistakes. I’ve been accused of unforgivable mistakes, things I didn’t do, though I know you don’t believe me when I say I’m innocent. I’m not dismissing any of the things I’ve done or that people have said I’ve done. I know you’ll never let me see you again, but I miss you. I miss Nina, my little tangerine. I miss your mom, I miss your dad, I miss our family. I’m out of jail now, and I’d love to see you, but I know that won’t happen. So please give me a call sometime, or answer a letter, or anything to let me know that you’re all okay. Danny Brunner In the letter, he didn’t in the slightest seem like a dad who’d been convicted of murder. He seemed like a worn-out guy who just wanted to see his daughter again. He’d said he was innocent, and I believed him. Or maybe I just didn’t want to believe that my dad was a murderer. Either way, I knew I had to meet him. So I took the $302.63 from the old soup can under my bed, my life savings, and counted out just enough for a train to Illinois. I wrote a note to my mother telling her where I was, placed it in her suitcase where I’d found the letter and packed an overnight bag. Then, when my mom left for work, I ran four miles to the train station and boarded the thirteen hour train to Illinois. I’d landed in Chicago, took a taxi to Urbana, and walked a few miles to the outskirts of Champaign, a town I’d never heard of before. And now I was walking down a dirt road in search of his house. And then I froze. 1202 Birch Tree Lane. The address on the letter. It was a pristine white house with green trimming and two neat beds of purple flowers out front. I walked slowly up the path to the door, heart pounding. Standing on the stoop, I was suddenly aware of how dangerous this was. How he might not be innocent. He could've been lying. But it’s hard to grow up without a dad and a mom who won't talk about your dad. And he seemed so nice in the letter. But he could really be a murderer. But I wanted to meet him. I wanted to know him. He was my DAD. I was going to risk it. I raised my hand and knocked on the door. like for part two! :)
