Chapter 2 - The Rain of Nineteen
The memory of the rain always tasted like copper and iron,
a bitter mixture that reminded me of the night the world ended.
I was nineteen years old,
standing on the porch of the Foley estate,
watching my life sit in two sodden suitcases.
The gutters were overflowing,
shedding tears of grey water onto the gravel driveway.
My father,
Walter Foley,
stood in the doorway like an angry god made of wool and spite.
He didn't look at me with love,
he didn't look at me with pity,
he looked at me as if I were a broken ledger that needed to be closed.
"You are a disgrace,"
he had said,
the words falling like stones into the mud.
"You were supposed to marry Scott Parker,"
"that was your responsibility to this bloodline."
I remembered the way my mother stood behind him,
a delicate bird trapped in a cage of her own making.
She didn't speak,
she didn't move,
she only pressed a lace handkerchief to her trembling lips.
My brother,
Shane,
was leaning against the mahogany staircase,
his face twisted into a grin that I still saw in my nightmares.
"I don't love him,
Walter,"
I had replied,
my voice sounding small against the roar of the storm.
"You were not raised for love,"
my father roared,
stepping out into the cold air.
"You were raised to serve the Foley name!"
"Then I won't,"
I said,
and that was the moment the bridge turned to ash.
He had reached out and shoved my suitcases into the puddles,
the fabric soaking up the filth of the earth.
"Then leave,"
he commanded,
his voice as cold as the Atlantic.
"Become nothing,"
"and don't come crawling back when the world teaches you your worth."
I didn't cry,
not then,
not for many years.
I simply picked up my wet bags,
and walked into the dark,
leaving the Foley name behind me like a discarded skin.
Shane’s laughter followed me down the driveway,
a high,
taunting sound that echoed in the wind.
"You'll never amount to anything without us!"
he had shouted,
his voice fading as I reached the gate.
For twenty-one years,
I had carried that weight,
the weight of being "nothing" in their eyes.
I had worked in kitchens,
and cleaned floors,
and slept on buses,
waiting for the world to teach me what I was worth.
But the world didn't teach me I was worthless,
it taught me that I was made of steel.
It taught me that a name is just a word,
but a life is a series of choices.
And standing here now,
atMason’s wedding,
I realized that Walter Foley had never truly known his daughter.
He had only known the person he wanted me to be,
the puppet he wanted to pull the strings of.
May you like
Now,
I was the one holding the strings.
