Mid-west, Clint eastwood, Marty Robins-esque

My daddy weren’t no man. Least not the kind he thought he was. After mama birthed me, he got stuck with a howlin' baby doll that haunted him clear through to when I will be in my wedding-age. I remember, faint-like, the last pat my mother gave me before she high-tailed outta our lives. Left that man. Left me.

She had big lights in her eyes. Wanted to be famous actress, I reckon. Folks say her voice could soothe even the wildest newborn, lull 'em like a lullaby on a riverboat. I don’t remember it. I envy them that do. They ask if I miss her. I don't. Truth is, I never knew the woman. A woman who would conceive a child with a man like my father? No ma'am. she must have been insane, for leaving a child in his hands. She weren’t mad… or maybe she was. Either way, she up and left a kid with him, and that’s enough to curse her name. I speak it like it’s fiction-like it belongs in a novel you find down the road.

Now, my old man… he’s something surreal. Ugly as sin but women keep tossin’ themselves at him like coins into a wishing well. Rumors hang around him like flies on a pig. People know he ain’t got no heart, and no capacity for love. Yet during my childhood, several women came in and out of our lives, not to take care of me, but to care for my father.

He ended up takin' in a girl-bout my age. I was fourteen. Her name was Kala. Indian girl. He tied the knot with her, but not the kind of story you write in wedding invites.

He won her in a game. A dang card game.

Her pa, Francis, was a white man with pockets full of debt and a plan, he saw his daughter as the key to getting out of debt.. Middle of the day, town’s menfolk sittin’ around Herman’s Place-a dive where lawmen lose their way, gamblers lose their shirts, And my daddy found his people: lumberjacks, traders, even Brits too polished for his kind. He weren’t respected. He was just… there. A tagalong with charm dipped in grease, unlike them, he had nothing but the number of women he left with unfathered children.

Francis bet his last chip: his daughter. Wanted outta debt so bad, and my daddy-man without a penny to feed me, already sold half our farm stock-decided to lend some money to that bum just for the trill of the game. Game was simple. If Francis wins, debt’s cleared. Daddy wins, he pays up. Francis lost. And he handed over his daughter like she was a watch or a bottle of whiskey.

My father dropped everything and accepted. He forgave all debts. I remember the first day he brought her home-his smile so bright it reflected every kind of light that exists. I looked at the girl. She had long hair, dull and doll-like. Fragile. Her skin was darker than anyone in town. Her eyes reflected nothing. She and I did not get along. She looked younger than I was. She carried an aura of sadness like a silhouette. Still, after she came, my father had no other women. That meant something. But not enough.

One morning, he laid hands on her. Marked her face with anger-tattooed his rage like a branding iron. She had overslept. Me and him came back from yard work, empty stomachs and hot tempers. She stood quiet, She said nothing-she knew her faults-but her eyes burned redder than her cheeks. Fury reeked from her pores.

She tried fightin’ back. Lord, she did.

With all her strength, she tried to put him down. That was my final straw. The man had it coming. We charged him together, two teenagers with nothing but rage-but he was a tower. I screamed for her to run to her room as I took every blow he gave. That old man was no good. I yelled for her to run. She bolted to the room upstairs. He dragged me like a wolf would prey. He grabbed my wrist and pinned me down. She ran upstairs, and he followed, locking them both inside. I was below, listening to hell erupt above. I ran outside. The breeze hit me as I stared up at their window. Five hours passed. No one came out.

Window stayed dark.

“She’s dead,” I mumbled.

The next morning, the old man kicked me awake to go feed the horses. Inside, I smelled breakfast. It was her. She was cooking like nothing had happened. I tried to speak to her. I told her she could leave him. But she insisted, saying he'd go back to her father and demand repayment of the debt. I argued that the old man had already forgotten about it. But she looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Where else would I go?” I couldn’t argue with that. She would either be a wh#. re in this house, or a wh#. re somewhere else. After that, we bonded-like sisters. (imported this from my tumblr, idk if this is okay here)