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Description
The first time she had set foot on the stage, an unshakeable surety that this was what she had been born to do budded in the most central threads of her being. That day the curtains had opened, and she joined with the notes of the choir.

“That’s three combo ones, with root beer, ginger ale and coke. Enjoy your meal.” She turned on her heel and hurried back to the kitchen to grab the last table’s order. It hadn’t been too busy, for a Sunday in the seedy Denny’s on 97th Avenue. Most of the customers came directly from the college across the street, all with that troubled look on their faces fringed by styled perfect hair with too many debts to pay. Blaine looked up from behind the little window between the kitchen and front service counter. He set three plates on the sill, which she grabbed before Annie touched her shoulder, making her jump. She handed her the phone.
“Rhine, your father called.”
Rhine sighed, wiping her hands on her apron and let Annie read her expression.
“He said it was an emergency.” Annie paused a second and continued. “You are his child, still.”
“I know,” Rhine muttered, taking the phone. “Thanks.”
Annie grabbed the plates, calling over her shoulder. “Your shift’s over in like five, go home. Good work today.”
Rhine berated herself inwardly, for an owner of a dying franchise Annie seemed to have a limitless kindness when it came to her. It was here where she had spent her night the first time she hadn’t gone home.

The snow was hard and sugary underfoot, an interfering texture underlying the sweet notes of The Broods. Money. The stuff her dad drained like the cans of beer littering the once pristine livingroom, her mother’s water fountains blocked by junk. There was never enough of it at home ever since he’d been laid off from the accounting firm he’d worked for fifteen years. Rhine didn’t intend to assume she knew everything about all that had gone wrong between her parents, but they had indeed tried very hard, for her sake, for the sake of having a family. She also knew though that fundamentally, people didn’t change. And that the things she had wanted were probably not possible now.

“Dad, you left the door unlocked. What’s going on with you?” Rhine chucked her keys and coat onto the coffee table. He was probably upstairs in his room, passed out in a pile of cans like the little plastic balls in the playplace at work. He hadn’t been the same after mom left.
“Rhine? Come up here quick.” Her heart jumped. It sounded like her old dad, tones of life in his voice instead of grating alcohol.
“Dad? What is it?” She couldn’t keep from bounding up the stairs like a kid, grabbing ahold of the doorframe in her haste to make it to him for fear he’d disappear forever.
He was kneeling by the VCR, tapes all on the floor around him. He looked up at her, and pointed.
“Look. It’s you.”
Rhine heard the sound before she felt it. It was beautiful. She knew exactly where she had been standing that day, could remember exactly how the music had rushed through her veins like power in a cord to some light. She felt the light go on again. It was terrible.
“Oh, Rhine.” He just looked at her and cried.
“It’s okay dad. It’s not that I can’t. Nothing yet. Yet.”

Description
The first time she had set foot on the stage, an unshakeable surety that this was what she had been born to do budded in the most central threads of her being. That day the curtains had opened, and she joined with the notes of the choir.

“That’s three combo ones, with root beer, ginger ale and coke. Enjoy your meal.” She turned on her heel and hurried back to the kitchen to grab the last table’s order. It hadn’t been too busy, for a Sunday in the seedy Denny’s on 97th Avenue. Most of the customers came directly from the college across the street, all with that troubled look on their faces fringed by styled perfect hair with too many debts to pay. Blaine looked up from behind the little window between the kitchen and front service counter. He set three plates on the sill, which she grabbed before Annie touched her shoulder, making her jump. She handed her the phone.
“Rhine, your father called.”
Rhine sighed, wiping her hands on her apron and let Annie read her expression.
“He said it was an emergency.” Annie paused a second and continued. “You are his child, still.”
“I know,” Rhine muttered, taking the phone. “Thanks.”
Annie grabbed the plates, calling over her shoulder. “Your shift’s over in like five, go home. Good work today.”
Rhine berated herself inwardly, for an owner of a dying franchise Annie seemed to have a limitless kindness when it came to her. It was here where she had spent her night the first time she hadn’t gone home.

The snow was hard and sugary underfoot, an interfering texture underlying the sweet notes of The Broods. Money. The stuff her dad drained like the cans of beer littering the once pristine livingroom, her mother’s water fountains blocked by junk. There was never enough of it at home ever since he’d been laid off from the accounting firm he’d worked for fifteen years. Rhine didn’t intend to assume she knew everything about all that had gone wrong between her parents, but they had indeed tried very hard, for her sake, for the sake of having a family. She also knew though that fundamentally, people didn’t change. And that the things she had wanted were probably not possible now.

“Dad, you left the door unlocked. What’s going on with you?” Rhine chucked her keys and coat onto the coffee table. He was probably upstairs in his room, passed out in a pile of cans like the little plastic balls in the playplace at work. He hadn’t been the same after mom left.
“Rhine? Come up here quick.” Her heart jumped. It sounded like her old dad, tones of life in his voice instead of grating alcohol.
“Dad? What is it?” She couldn’t keep from bounding up the stairs like a kid, grabbing ahold of the doorframe in her haste to make it to him for fear he’d disappear forever.
He was kneeling by the VCR, tapes all on the floor around him. He looked up at her, and pointed.
“Look. It’s you.”
Rhine heard the sound before she felt it. It was beautiful. She knew exactly where she had been standing that day, could remember exactly how the music had rushed through her veins like power in a cord to some light. She felt the light go on again. It was terrible.
“Oh, Rhine.” He just looked at her and cried.
“It’s okay dad. It’s not that I can’t. Nothing yet. Yet.”