Thirty-Eight #2
She’s been doing well in the weeks since moving in, and I think she’s finally adjusting and starting to see the house as her own.
That was part of the reason I was so happy to hear that Jessie was coming over last night.
If she invited someone over, that means she truly feels like the place is hers, too.
The next few hours pass with little fanfare, Brandon and Justin bickering back and forth with each other as we all try to hurry up and finish the task at hand, not wanting to give the other crew the chance to change their mind and ask us to stay.
Luckily, we’re able to finish out the road paving, and before I know it, I’m throwing my vest and hat into the bed of the truck and climbing behind the steering wheel.
I drum the wheel with a nervous excited energy as I wait for Justin to finish throwing his stuff in the back.
When he climbs in, his gaze zeroes in on my fingers as they continue to beat a steady pattern into the leather.
“Want me to drive home?” he asks, but I immediately shake my head.
“Nah, I’m good. Ready to go?” He nods, and we take off down the road in the direction of the highway.
I appreciate Justin’s offer, but I’m too amped up right now, and just sitting in the passenger seat for the three-hour drive would drive me nuts.
Already, anticipation is twisting in my gut as the clock drags out the countdown until I see her again.
It takes forever to make it to the highway on-ramp, but once we merge, I floor the gas, thankful to be moving more than forty-five miles per hour.
The wind whistles through the cracked windows, the breeze chilling the sweat still lingering on my skin. I don’t know how much time passes when Justin speaks up from beside me.
“You alright, man? You seem on edge.”
“I’m fine. Ready to get home.” It’s the truth, but has more to do with getting to my girl than getting home.
I think Justin reads between the lines on this one, based on the knowing look he shoots at me.
“How’s it going with Oakley, anyway? I mean, I know you guys are… I mean, things have… progressed. Can we expect wedding bells in the near future?”
The statement feels so absurd that I burst out a short, hollow laugh and shove my friend’s shoulder.
In reality, the idea of marrying Oakley is the polar opposite of absurd. What’s absurd is the fact that I’ve already entertained the idea far more than I should, considering I’ve known the girl for a few weeks at most.
We’re not there yet, not by a long shot.
And then there’s the darker side of my resignation.
The side that tells me I’m not worth marrying.
That she deserves so much better than me.
No matter how hard I fight to banish the guilt that festered and flourished in the years following my final encounter with my father, it’s always there, ever-present in some shadowed corner of my soul.
“That might be pushing it,” I respond, attempting to make light of the question, when, in reality, I’m drowning in the memories of that night.
“How many times do I have to remind you that you are not your father?” Justin asks, sighing, already knowing where my mind has gone.
His eyes burn a hole into the side of my face but I don’t take my eyes off the road, and I don’t respond.
Of course I’m not my father. I know this, but that doesn’t mean that there is any less of the monster in me than was in him.
Justin takes a deep breath, letting it out on a long exhale before continuing.
“I know you don’t believe me, and that’s fine.
All I’m trying to get you to understand is that nothing that happened was your fault, and I think you know that.
You did what had to be done to protect yourself and your family.
No one faults you for that. But you can’t keep letting it hold you back from chasing after the happiness you know deep down you deserve.
When are you going to stop punishing yourself? ”
Justin knows about what happened that night, being the one to find me sitting there in the corner of the living room, knees drawn to my chest, my fists covered in blood and resting atop my folded knees.
He had come over after school to drop off the textbook I’d left in my last class, and walked right into a scene from hell.
My unconscious father on the floor, face unrecognizable through all the blood. My mom had taken Eva to soccer practice, but they were due home at any minute.
And me? Sixteen-year-old me was sitting there, cowering in the corner like a scared animal, dazed and in shock.
I clench my teeth so hard my jaw aches as the memories of that night, that I’ve managed to keep at bay until now, come flooding back.
Dad had come home drunk, again, and was spewing his bullshit about the mess of mail on the counter and my bookbag on the ground by the dining room table.
My father, violent as he was, was a meticulous man. Everything had a place and was expected to be spotless when he stepped foot in the house, despite his less-than-stellar appearance ninety percent of the time.
I recall the blows to my chest and stomach like it was yesterday, the throbbing ache of hit after hit on top of healing bruises.
Something in me snapped. I was sick and tired of being this man’s punching bag.
Sick of laying witness to the abuse he put my mom and sister through, too.
The nauseating thought of allowing it to continue for even one more minute left me with little choice.
My sister was getting older, and I saw the way he looked at her, saw the way his eyes followed her up the stairs, or how they zeroed in on the hem of her pajama shorts.
I’d had enough.
I knew what needed to be done.
Once the dam broke, there was no stopping the flood of rage that came barreling out of me as I let my fists fly, not stopping even once he was unconscious on the floor beneath me.
I’m not sure what it was that finally pulled me off of him, but one minute my fists were flailing, and the next, they hung suspended in the air above him. Sudden recognition quickly drained the color from my face, before vomit spewed from my lips as I rushed to clamber off of his limp body.
That was my first and only meeting with the monster inside me. I was like an abused and caged animal, finally biting back for the first time when threatened.
Justin had a look of utter shock on his face when he walked in on the carnage, dropping the textbook in his hands to the ground with a resounding thud, but, despite that, he didn’t panic. He set his jaw, made a quick call to his father, Sheriff Hadley, and then sat with me until the cops came.
I thought for sure I was going to be arrested, but didn’t have it in me to give a shit. I just kept staring blankly at the evidence of my anger until Justin’s dad pulled me up and out of the house.
The events that followed were a blur. All I know is I never saw my father again.
“It’s not that easy,” I argue.
“No, it’s not, but it’s also not impossible. Look, you were dealt a shitty hand. You had to make adult decisions when you were way too young. But you protected Eva, you protected your mom, and you protected yourself. You did what you had to do to survive. No one faults you for that.”
We drive in silence the rest of the way back to North Creek, Justin sitting with me while I quietly contemplate his words.
You did what you had to do to survive. No one faults you for that.
If that’s true, then why do I?