“You have no respect for me you little shit!”
“I’m going to kick the living shit out of you!”
“How dare you make me wait, I’m going to beat the respect into you!”
Stop. Fast Forward.
These words echoed in my head, repeating themselves over and over again like a broken record. No matter how much I drank, they simply would not go away. Neither would the sounds of my sisters crying, my mother shrieking, or the dogs barking from all the commotion. I found myself envying families that got divorced; at least those kids didn’t have to deal with the constant yelling and screaming that perpetuated my life. I knew my parents would never separate though; it was against the crutch they called their religion.
I wasn’t even part of the fight; I had walked down stairs right into it. My brother had done something that apparently infuriated my dad, and then walked out. I assumed he went to his girlfriends, because he had no where else to go. After the display of warm caring and love that my father had put on, I met my friends at a local pub. I didn’t tell them what happened, they would just make fun of me and call me a pussy. The universal word that all males avoid, the word that means you display emotion. No one wanted to show any of that.
The bar we were in had a nautical theme. Everything in
John orders a round of tequila for everyone. I like John. We toast to our friends in
My father’s voice gets louder now, the tequila turning up the volume. I feel myself getting angrier every drink, the rage building up in me. How could he treat his family like that? How can he turn a simple and happy thing like getting ice-cream into a Jerry Springer nightmare? It’s two a.m. and time to go. I tell myself I can drive, that I am sotally tober.
The road begins to bend, or was that me thinking it was bending? Only one way to find out. Thank god it’s a real bend. My car is swerving, why won’t it stop doing that? I’m trying to drive here. I make it back to my house and my father is still awake watching television. He starts yelling at me for driving drunk. I start yelling at him for everything. Everything that had been building up came out, the belittling, yelling, demeaning, everything. He stood there shocked, not knowing what to say. Then he came running at me, fists raised to strike me down. Everything happened in slow motion, I silently laughed to myself that I felt like I was in the matrix. I sidestepped the first punch and he went into the wall. This only made him angrier, and he came out me even faster and harder this time. He connected with my nose; I felt the cartilage tear, my bones crack, and the blood stream out. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I held them back.
I felt a fury that I had never experienced before. A fire burned in me, something that couldn’t be controlled. I tackled him to the ground and begin hitting him as hard as I could. His face became a bloody mess. I didn’t stop though. I yelled at him, screamed until my throat was raw. Why did you do this? Why? Everyone was awake now and looking at me, their eyes wide and full of fear. I know it is time to go. I grab my keys, and walk to the front door, turn around and look at them one final time. I tell them I’m sorry but I don’t mean it. I close the door and walk away. That was the last time I saw my family.