Unwelcoming Home

Sometimes, life sucks.   Sometimes, it hurts so bad, and the best thing that anyone can do is to just give up and give in.  However, I refuse to give up.  I refuse to give in.  No matter how bad life may seem, I know that once you hit rock bottom, the only place left to go is up.1

Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  Come on hand, move.  Turn the water all the way off.  You can do it.  Move.  Move!  Tap.  Tap.  I watch with dazed eyes as my hand reaches out and turns the loose knob all the way to the off side, allowing the water to quit falling into the dirty ringed sink.  He hit me.  He hit me with his fist.  He hit me with his fist and smashed it into my face.  He hit me with his fist and smashed a hole right through my heart.2

I sit on the toilet seat hearing my father seething downstairs.  He’s pounding the walls, calling me obscenities I’ll never repeat and I sit on the toilet seat and I think about my bruising jaw and how it hurts far more than the cracked ribs he gave me.  Maybe, if I’m quiet and I don’t say another word, this will all go away.  Maybe if I’m quiet, he’ll go away.  Maybe if I’m quiet...I can go away.3

“DAVEY! GET DOWN HERE NOW AND CLEAN UP THIS BLOODY MESS!” I hear my father scream to me.  Scream at me.  But, I’m not listening.  I’m in my zone, contemplating leaving.  I’m cruising down the highway in my beat up Chevy Cavalier.  All the windows are down, and the wind is blowing through my dyed blue hair.  I’m listening to Idol’s Rebel Yell and I’m screaming my rebel cheer.  The sun is beaming on my favorite tattoo.  Boys don’t cry is inked right across my stomach.  And I’m feeling free.  No screams of obscenities.  No bruises or cracked smiles.  No hatred on my million mile drive.4

“Davey?”  He is right at the bathroom door now.  I can taste the vodka flowing off his breath and suffocating me in this room.  The smell is so intense, it makes me want to vomit or run out of the room.  But I can’t.  I can’t run, he’s right outside, maybe if I’m quiet he’ll leave.  Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  The sink’s broken again.  I think to myself, as I look down.  No water coming from the faucet.  Must be raining outside…I’d love to play in the rain, like I used to when I was a kid.  When Mom and I would play all day when it rained, splashing in puddles, shaking our heads’ around together, hitting each other’s faces with droplets of love…that was when Father wasn’t around.  He couldn’t be found, when Mom and I danced in the rain.5

Silence.  The rain is done and there is a sweet scent outside the bathroom.  This must mean my father has gone to his room to sleep.  That, or he’s back at Charlie’s.  How long have I been standing in the bathroom?  I look down at my watch: 3:13 A.M.  Sunday morning.  I need to get her some flowers today.  I might as well leave now.  He’ll only care that I’m not here because he won’t have a beating bag when he gets home.6

I open the locked bathroom door and before I even step out I look both ways.  I know he’s gone, but I can’t help not checking.  Once I comfort myself in knowing he’s gone, I go to my room and open the door.  The room isn’t how I left it.7

My mattress had been ripped from my bed and thrown against the wall.  All of my drawers are scattered about the room with clothing torn and dangled on the floor.  My father must have been in here looking for my money again.8

I go to the farthest corner in my room, sitting down, staring at the two walls connecting.  My carpet is frayed here, it gets pulled up so often by me.  I lift it up and the loose board below it and I pull out shoe box the board had been covering, then I cover it all back up and I stare at the box for a second.  Am I really going to do this?  Am I really going to do this and not feel any regret?  Yes.  I really am going to do this, and I won’t feel any regret.  He doesn’t feel regret when he hits me.  He didn’t feel regret when he killed her...He doesn’t feel regret, so neither will I.  I open the box, feeling renewed.  In the box are all the checks I had saved up since her death.  Since I realized I’d have to leave to be safe.  Three thousand-six hundred-and forty one dollars.  It’s not much, but it’s a start.9

I grab the checks and few dollars that are in the box, and I shove them into my torn jean pockets.  Next, I go around the room grabbing up my vintage rock tees shoving them into my black book bag.  Once my book bag is filled, I throw it up against my door wall.  I pack everything I can find, that I want.  I pack until the sun starts to rise, then I grab up all of my bags and I walk out the front door.  I’m in a daze, I know that.  I just walk to the car.  I watch my hand as it opens up the back door and I watch as I start throw my bags into the car, not caring about where they land.  Then I watch my feet take me slowly to the front seat, and I watch myself open the car door and sit in the drivers seat.  I take my key and put it into the ignition and I start my car up.  Before I go, I need to get her flowers.  That’s my last thought as I pull out of my driveway, finally feeling free from him.10

I’m driving like I am in my happy place, except my windows are up because my music is too loud and I don’t want to wake the neighborhood.  I drive off of my street, stopping at the stop sign right before Main Street that leads to the florist shop and cemetery.  I look in the rear view mirror; I can see my home from where I am.  I’m free.  I’m finally going to do it, and I’m finally going to be free.  Without looking back, I turn onto Main Street and I head towards the shop, to buy some mums for my Mom.  When I reach the florist’s and I pull into the parking area, I know that the shop is closed, but the owner lives in the house right next to the shop, so I park my car and walk over to his home and to a window.  11

“Paul.”  I call, tapping.  The florist’s son looks at me out of his blinds.  I smile at him, “I need some mums.”12

“Davey?  It’s 6 A.M. for Pete’s sake!”  Paul says grinning back at me, and then he’s gone.  I listen as he moves around his room, probably looking for clothing.  When he gets back to the window, it’s because he’s opening it up to hop out of.  He’s wearing a pair of paint stained pants and flip flops.  His chest is showing off his tattoo that says The Lovecats. 13

He and I walk over to the shop and he opens it up.  We walk inside together.  I look at the mums and pick out the perfect one’s for my mother’s grave.  I look at Paul, who’s still by the shop’s entrance, staring at me.14

“Where are you going?”  He’s looking me up and down.  I want to cry and tell him everything.  I want to ask him to come with me.  Run away with me, Paul!  Run away from this hick town.  Come to California with me, come be by my side.  But, I don’t.  15

“How much will these mum’s be?”  I ask, showing him the assortment I had picked out.16

“On the house, Davey.”  Paul says to me, his eyes sparkling as the sun shine’s vibrantly behind him.  I walk to the entrance, but Paul’s blocked my way out.  He reaches out and places his gentle hand onto my arm.  “Wait.  Give me a moment.  Please.  I know you’re leaving…I’m not stupid.  I see the bruise...we walked past your car...I saw the bags...I didn’t want to say anything...I can’t lose you.  Let me come with you...please?”  I look into his pleading eyes.  They say they love me.  All I can do is nod, flattered by the thought that he’d be willing to leave this all behind for me.  And for the first time in so long, I feel loved.  I watch him run back to his house, and into the window to grab his things.17

I walk out of the shop and head up towards the cemetery.  I walk the same path every time I come.  I start at the entrance, noticing that the roses have bloomed well this year.  Then I go off to the left path, walking slowly down the first hill.  Mrs. Timber is at her husband’s grave.  Her gray hair is up in a tight bun and she has a blood red rose in her delicate pale hands.  I watch her drop the rose as she drops a tear and walks off to her car, to go back home.  She’s the only person I pay attention to when I come to the cemetery.  18

My father had killed her husband, when he killed my Mom.19

They’d been driving.  My father was drunk and yelling at my Mom in the car.  I was in the back seat, listening to it all.  My Mom, looking perfectly angelic was sitting beside her husband, crying and apologizing about something she didn’t do.  My father, he just kept yelling though.  Then he smacked her.  “Stop it.” I screamed.20

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”  My father turned around and slapped me in the face.21

“Boy, you had better-” he started to threaten, but he had went into the other lane when he had turned around and Mr. Timber’s car was coming around a corner…all of a sudden, I heard a loud bang, and I’m thrown against my car door.  It flies opened, and I’m rolling onto the pavement.  I’m ten years old and I watched as my father leapt from his driver side, leaving my Mom unconscious on her side.  Mr. Timber’s car caught on fire, and all of a sudden, my car caught on fire...22

I reach my Mom’s grave and I stare down at it.  There are a few weeds trying to show their ugliness; I pull them away and put my mums down on the lush grass that my Mom lay beneath.  I feel my hot tears beginning to roll, but I’m not ashamed.  I’m glad.  I look at my Mom’s grave for a while.  “Da-Davey?”  I hear Paul call my name shaking from behind, I turn to look at him.  23

Next to Paul, holding onto one should tightly is his father, on the other side, is mine.  “Where do you think you’re going Davey?”  My father sneers.24

“You’ve corrupted my son! You little queen!”  His father screams at me.  I stop looking at the hatred in our father’s eyes, and I stare at Paul.  He has a tear rolling down his face, and though his eyes show fear, they’re looking right at me, showing me love.25

“I’m leaving.  I’m going away Pops and I’m taking Paul with me.  I hate it here, and if I don’t go…I’ll die here…and refuse to die where you’ll die Pops.”  My father steps closer to me, and I take one step back.  I’m not afraid, I’m just getting ready.  I’m not afraid of you anymore.  I’m almost free, and you can’t take me anymore.   You can’t break my spirit anymore.  You can’t hit me anymore…26

“You can’t break me anymore!  You can’t steal away my life anymore!  I hate you for killing her!  I hate you for killing me!  I hate you for killing our family!  Back off!  Leave! LEAVE! LEAVE!  NO ONE WANTS YOU HERE…NO ONE LOVES YOU HERE!   YOU KILLED HER!  YOU KILLED HIM!  YOU KILLED ME! YOU KILLED-”  I scream out right in his face.  He looks at me in complete disbelief.  Let him stare, I run toward Paul, grabbing his hand.  He grasps mine for comfort and because he’s afraid.  “I’m afraid too!”  I pant out as we run down to my car.  I notice there’s more bags in there.  “Already packed your things?”  He breathes out a heavy sigh, nodding.27

“They caught me, trying to tidy up your car.  It’s so wretched.”  Out of breath, we laugh hoarsely and jump into my car.  It’s only 7 A.M. but I crank my stereo and I roll down all my windows, and Paul and I ride free.  I ride free.  Free from my dad.  Free from the pain.  Free from the hits.  I’m free.28

Life sucks.  It’s tough.  It’s takes away things that people hold dear, and it gives those people infinite mounts of pain.  Life took away my Mom.  Took her away from me.  But it couldn’t take away my spirit...he couldn’t take away my spirit.29