Twenty-Five
My mother spit-cleans my face with a tissue and does her best to straighten my hair with her fingers. “Kaiden, I told you not to get dirty,” she admonishes softly, before pulling me in for a hug and kissing the top of my head.
I squirm away. I’m ten now, after all. Too old for this soppy shit.
“Why am I all dressed up, anyway?” Yeah, my voice has the edge of a whine to it. It’s the weekend, and I want to play with my friends.
“Your father wants to see you. He’s flying in especially, from…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. Truth is, I don’t think she knows where my father lives these days. It’s not like he keeps in touch. I can’t even remember the last time I saw him. I was little. That’s all I can recall. Maybe four or five. He walked out the door one day and never came back.
If my mother’s had any contact with him during that time, she never mentions it, though I hear her curse him softly sometimes when things are especially tough.
I frown, not sure I want to see him. Sure, part of me is curious, but another part thinks we’ve managed just fine without him - mostly - all this time.
But Ma has her best dress on, and her hair is all fancy. She has a look on her face I don’t recognize. Like half a smile and maybe a bit of how I feel when I get out of school.
School’s boring. I can already read, and write, and do sums. What else do I need to learn?
There’s a loud pounding on the door, and Ma rushes off to answer it. Next minute, a big man pushes past her without even saying hello and seems to take up all the space in our tiny living room.
Is this him? Is this my dad? If it is, I don’t recognize him.
And he’s rude.
He stares at me, and I stare right back. Behind him, I’m vaguely aware of my mother wringing her hands, and the mood in our normally happy house feels wrong. Her face is all pinched now.
“Eduardo, would you like some iced tea or something?”
“Get me a beer,” he replies, not even glancing at her.
Ma shuffles from one foot to the other. “Umm… there’s no beer here.”
“You always were a fucking useless bitch.”
He looks at her now, and I don’t like the way he does it. Ma takes a step back as he looms in front of her, and I rush to intervene. “I can go get some if you like,” I offer, looking cautiously between the two of them, a fear building inside my chest that I don’t understand.
The man - my father - looks at me like he forgot I was there before giving the kind of smile a shark has in books I’ve seen at school.
“Don’t worry, son. Your mother will go,” he declares, pulling a couple of notes from his wallet and throwing them at her.
Ma scrambles to grab them but doesn’t leave, instead looking between him and me with wide eyes that seem kinda scared.
“Get a move on,” the man snarls, and with one last look, Ma mumbles that she won’t be long and scurries out the door.
I don’t like this man, even if he is my dad.
“Go pack a bag,” he tells me as soon as she’s gone. “You’re coming with me.”
I scowl at him. “Ma never said anything ‘bout that.”
All I get for my effort is a clip around the ear. “Well, I’m your father, and I’m telling you. Now get to it, or you’ll get my belt.”
He pushes me towards the rear bedroom with a kick in the ass for good measure that almost sends me sprawling.
Asshole.
When I get to the bedroom I share with my mom, I wonder if I can jump out of the window. No way I’m going with this goon. Ma’s not even here to say goodbye.
I don’t get far. Pushing the sash up makes too much noise, and the next minute he’s there, grabbing me by the arm and flinging me to the floor.
“What did I tell you, boy?” he yells, kicking me in the stomach with his big boot so I can’t even answer.
I lay there, winded, while he throws open drawers and stuffs things in the duffle bag I use for school after emptying the contents all over the floor.
Before I can get my head around what’s going on, he’s hauling me to my feet and shaking me like a rag doll. My teeth rattle, and my vision blurs.
“Stop!” I manage to gasp, and it comes out small and pathetic.
“Make sure you mind me, you little shit, or things will be a lot worse for you than they need to be,” he warns.
The words hit harder than the boot, and my stomach churns, a sick feeling rising in my throat. I want to cry, but something in those cold eyes of his tells me tears are another thing that’ll make it worse.
When he drops me, I stumble, catching myself on the doorframe. My stomach throbs where his boot connected, but Eduardo just drags me through the living room, the duffel bag slung over his other shoulder. No way I’m calling this fucker dad.
He throws open the front door so it bangs against the wall hard enough to leave a mark, and the afternoon sunlight streams in, mocking me with its cheerfulness.
I try to dig my heels in, but he’s too strong, and my worn sneakers just squeak uselessly against the lino.
“Don’t make me beat you, boy,” he growls, and I try to keep up because I believe him.
Outside, there’s a black car I don’t recognize, parked at the curb.
He shoves me toward it, and I catch a glimpse of Mrs. Chen from next door peeking through her curtains.
Our eyes meet for just a second, and I try to tell her with my expression that I need help, before her curtain twitches shut like she saw nothing.
I already know the stupid old biddy won’t bother to do anything.
Eduardo yanks open one of the rear doors and practically throws me inside. The bag lands on top of me, and before I can even think about making a run for it, he’s in the driver’s seat, engine roaring.
He tears down the road like he’s driving a getaway car from the movies. People stop and look, and among them I spot my mother.
“Ma! Ma…” I scream, slapping my palm on the window.
She stops and stares at me, her eyes wide, her mouth open, as she drops the bag she’s holding and runs after us, waving her arms in the air.
That’s the last time I see her.