Prologue
It�s amazing how large the human brain is. It is said that the human race will
never really understand how much power the brain holds. Did you know we use
only a small fraction of our brain capacity when really we have an amazing
amount of knowledge that is never explored? We all use our brains, some more
then others, but it amazes me the amount that is just not used. My mother used
to tell me my brain could bend medal if I pushed it to grow to its highest peek.
My family is big on knowledge. They say that knowledge will thrive my future when I would be thrust into this hideously dank world. Those with knowledge will not only be above in the work force of America but in other departments as well. My father believed that the brain is a tricky thing, but with out you even knowing it, it is growing bigger then life. He told me life is about what you know, what you�ve learned and everything else is a memory meant to be forgotten. So you can imagine what my father said when I told him I wanted to be an artist.
�Believe me Britney you won�t get far with paint strokes and water colors.�
I was always daddy�s little girl, still am. It�s just all my life all I have done is work. I often found myself exhausted after an all night study session on a Friday night. I never had time to socialize, unless I was at one of my fathers mixers where my father would chat with some of the high executives about which company they would be toppling next. They would laugh their rich manly laughs and sip their brandy�s. Their wives would be sitting on the couch, sitting up straight with their legs crossed politely. They would complement each other�s husbands and make little comments about the wonderful lighting in the dinning hall. I always made an appearance but rarely stick around for the mindless badgering and compliments.
My father is the only person I ever talk to; he�s my best friend. I don�t always agree with him, but what best friends do. People think I�m shy but I�m not. I don�t talk much but with my father I talk plenty. My father and I don�t usually go through a breakfast without budding heads about some kind of current vent. I�m strong willed, smart, and not easily swayed and I owe it all to my father. Anything else I got from my mother. She died when I was six. My father and I really weren�t as close for my first six years, but during my mothers fight with breast cancer we clung to each other and just�never let go.
My love for painting came in my first year of high school. My father enrolled my in McGumbry Prepitory School. He said that I should take full advantage of the opportunity at hand academically. So I did. Through my four years at MPS I made no friends. I never tried, but neither did they. My father said that friends would come to me in time, that if I really wanted to invest in a friendship that is worth the time, then they would come to me. They never came.
I was too quite, I don�t know why it�s just I never had anything to say. I�m human though, so sitting alone in the cafeteria got kind of�embarrassing. One day I went out to the front steps in front of the school and sat down. I took at a pencil and paper out. My wondering eyes caught a glimpse of the brass mascot statue in the middle of the walkway. I don�t know why but I had the urge to draw it. Everyday I drew the same thing. A pig with a helmet that had an M imprinted in it. As the year drew on the face of the pig became distorted with every drawing do to the hate I began to feel for the school.
I wasn�t a complete hermit though. I talk to some people. Some kids in my art class. Two to be exact. And�well that was about it. I rarely cracked I smile. Putting on the uniform each day, a plaid blue-green skirt, with a white button up shirt and a blue blazer, you can understand why this all got very repetitive. Not to mention the guys. According to the poll in the boys bathroom that was somehow copied and plastered all over the school, I was most voted for �Hottest Girl You�ll Never Get To Fuck�. Special huh? I hate to say but I was kind of happy. It was then that I noticed the eyes that wondered up and down my body each day. Many of the jocks �accidentally� bumped into me and then turned to say sorry while their eyes would be plastered to my breasts, which coincidentally was the one area that was touched when they ran into me. It was flattering, but quickly got old. I may be quite, but let me tell you from sixteen and up my hormones have been on over drive. In other words�I am extremely horny. Oh hush with the shaking of the heads, you all know you are too.
Through my senior year I had been trying to figure out away to break it to my father that my hobby had now grown to something much more�a career. I had applied to many art institutions, unbeknownst to my father, but really only had one on my mind. Columbia University School of Arts in none other then New York, New York. Being around business associates and stockbrokers gave me a love for big cities. I have always thought of my self as on the run and what better place to sprint then New York. Good right? Not to my father.
�New York, you know they kill people for shoes down there.�
I roll my eyes and chuckle a bit. �Well then I won�t where shoes how about that? Hell I won�t wear anything at all, I can make a nude statement.�
�Oh yeah there you go, rape�that�s just spectacular.�
�Dad come on.�
He shakes his head and directs his eyes at my acceptance letter.
�An art institution Brit? I taught you better then that.�
I hop off the counter. �You taught me to think for myself and as much as I love you, I have to do this for me. The only times I�m ever happy is when I paint.�
�A little dramatic don�t you think?�
I scoff and turn from him. �Yeah right dad cause I�m known for my drama queen tendencies.�
�Well sometimes��
�Dad! I need to do this. I�m good, I�m really good.� I take hold of his shoulders. �You won�t be wasting your money dad, trust me. You know me dad, if I do something I finish it.�
He takes me into his arms and sighs deeply. �I know, you�re very talented. It�s not about the money Brit, I have plenty of that, it�s just��
�I love you too dad.�
He chuckles slightly and pulls us apart smiling brightly.
�You know me too well.� He brushes hair out of my face. �I�m just gonna be lost without my little girl. What am I gonna do without you here?�
I smile at him and straighten his tie, holding the tears that are aching to spill out.
�You�ll live daddy.�
He smiles and shakes his head. �Let�s go to dinner sweetheart. Your choice, to celebrate your many accomplishments before leaving your old man to sulk to himself.�
I smile up at him and take his hand. �Oh yeah, my choice? How about�Chinatown.�
I look at him knowing his reaction full well being that he thinks it is terribly unsanitary. I smirk at him knowingly and he looks down and tries to hold back his laughter.
�Yeah, okay. But only if you promise not to be one of those artist that turns into one of those people that never shaves their legs or take showers and all that hoopla.�
I laugh at his face of disgust.
�Uh huh, deal. I promise to be hairless and showered at all times.�
� And clothed?�
I laugh again.
�And clothed.� I shake my head and take his hand.
�Oh my God, this should be fun.�
I laugh again at his comment.
I will always be daddies little girl.