]The BSD is sick and evil. I was seven when I visited the BSD (Biological Sperm Donor) in downtown San Diego over the weekend, like I did every weekend. He is a tall man, maybe 6’5 with fading blue eyes. My mom tells me he used to be beautiful, but the drugs he insisted on taking ruined his looks and any other thing that may have been good about him. When I was staying with the BSD, we went to Seaport Village. It was the day I realized his true self.

The day started off noisy just as it ended. It was downtown afterall. I don’t exactly remember going to Seaport Village, but we got there. It started off as a great day. We looked at the old, large boats, maybe even went on a few, I’m not quite sure. We saw the BSD’s father’s artwork there, on the sidewalk next to the water. It was curved metal in the shape of an arrowhead on a spiral like skeleton.

The fun didn’t last long, though. About a fourth of the way home, he started to stumble along the sidewalk. I was seven, of course I didn’t know he had taken a vast amount of drugs. Eventually it got to the point where he was falling over. After a considerable amount of time, we sat down on a rough, outstretched window sill to a large building.

I remember wondering, ”What happened to him?” and “how will we get home if he doesn’t get better?” For a seven year old this was highly traumatizing. As he fell asleep, I looked at the faded shade of eggshell white painted onto the building where we were sitting. I looked at the abandoned one-way street ahead. I looked at the large grey buildings encasing us.

I remember asking a man with a suit and a briefcase if I could use his phone, since neither I nor the BSD had ours. The BSD, if I can recall correctly, broke his conveniently a few days before. I’m not sure if the man in the suit had asked if we were alright or if I had asked to use his phone. I called my mom, maybe three times, but there was no answer. I remember him rushing away with his slim briefcase pulled hurriedly behind him. The wheels made a squeaky, rugged sound against the pavement. There was one thought going through my head, “how do I get back to the hotel?” I intended to tell him this, but he was asleep. I think I shook him awake.
After some time I managed to get him awake. I told him we had to get back to the hotel, but every time I asked, he said no. It must have been around 30-45 minutes until I decided to leave and run back to the huge, brown building the BSD was calling home for the few months he was out of jail. I told him I have to get back but he was so drugged up he didn’t care enough to stop me.

With a shaky breath I got up and ran. I ran past tons of parked cars until I reached a light. What’s funny is that I remember better than anything standing next to a guy in maybe his mid-late twenties wearing one of those bicyclist suits in a soothing baby blue shade. We waited there for a few good minutes before the light changed. I continued the agonizing way back to the hotel with my breathing all over the place. I was a pudgy kid to say the least.

There was a tall African American man behind the desk of the hotel lobby. I’m not sure if I shouted at the man, but I needed the key to room 320, I think it was. What I am sure about is that I sprinted to that room. When I arrived at the room I kind of just looked at everything for a bit, taking everything in.

Considering my age at the time, turning on the TV wasn’t such a bad idea. A movie was on. I believe the movie was a horror about people locked in a skyscraper with a ball of light trying to kill them. The details that I remember are weird but then again so is the human brain. I called my mom; there was no panic in my voice. I was very proud of myself for getting back to the hotel and the way I handled it, but I was also used to being let down by him. There were many instances before this. When she answered I explained everything that had happened, maybe with a little too much pride. While I waited for her, I watched the movie, trying to distract myself.

My mom picked me up quickly. We lived probably 30 minutes away, but she had gotten to the hotel a lot sooner. I explained to her what had happened thoroughly not missing any details. I think that was the last time I saw the BSD. I refused to see him after that. Clearly he is sick and evil.