9. YOU’RE A PRINCE.
YOU’RE A PRINCE.
There was a moment in time when I believed in something beyond what I could reach. The moment was brief and foreign to me, as if it were rooted in another life, and I suppose it was. At six years old, my life felt more like a taunt than a lingering nostalgia I’d someday get to feel.
Every day since I started going to school, I’d get off the bus to find my mother sitting on the steps of our trailer.
She was most likely knitting a sweater or solving a sudoku puzzle she’d never finish.
She never completed anything she started since she easily got bored with things.
She told me that we were different in that way.
I was a finisher. I enjoyed the process of completing things and seeing where the dedication led.
When I reached her, my thumbs pulled at the straps of my bookbag.
My father got it for me after he won a scratch-off ticket.
My mother’s ink-black hair was tied into a knot on top of her head, flyaways flipped around her face as the wind blew.
She always wore long-sleeved shirts and pants to hide the bruises.
I knew she had them to protect me, but I never understood it beyond that.
My father’s temper was horrifying. His anger always boiled over without an off switch.
Sometimes Mama couldn’t protect me and those times, she would scream at him to stop.
She would scream so much sometimes that she’d lose her voice.
The only times he would stop was to raise his hand at her instead.
I hated that I was too little to protect her.
She finally looked up from her knitting and I waited for her to ask me the same question she did every day I got home. “Good or bad?”
My answer was always the same, since I never wanted her to worry. “Good.” The truth was that the kids at school were mean to me. They threw things at the back of my head in class. No one sat with me at lunch because they said I smelled weird.
My mother smiled softly, and it was the kind that made me smile back. The circles under her eyes were dark, even though she tried to cover them with makeup. “Your father will be home soon. G’head and get cleaned up for dinner.”
That night at dinner, we ate silently while watching him down beer after beer. I knew we were both hoping it was the pass-out kind of drunk and not the rage-fueled one. When he reached for the bottle of gin on top of the fridge, we knew we’d be safe for the night.
Whenever he passed out on the recliner in the living room, we’d stay up and watch movies. Sometimes I’d color while she knitted, but that night, we both just wanted to watch TV.
I often wondered what other people’s families were like. If maybe they were afraid to go home too.
One girl at school said her family went to Cape Cod every summer to celebrate the fourth of July. A boy, Jeffrey I think his name was, told everyone he would have a sibling in a few months and seemed happy about it.
If my mom told me I was getting a sibling I’d be scared out of my mind because all I could imagine was my father hating them, too.
We were in the middle of watching The Wizard of Oz when her hand ran through my hair gently. I loved those nights with my whole being because I got my mom back for a few hours.
“You’re going to be important someday, you know that, don’t you?
” she asked me, clucking her knuckle under my chin.
I looked over at her and there was a sincerity in her eyes that I couldn’t smear away from my memory—not that I ever would, but it was there; bold and certain of me.
“You’re a Prince, Julian. Always remember that. It means something.”
I FIGURED OUT WHY all the kids at school were mean to me.
Their parents hated my father—called him the town drunk—and so they hated me too.
It never felt fair, but I took it because what else was I supposed to do?
I wasn’t the biggest kid; mostly skin and bone and afraid of everything.
Fighting back scared me and cowering killed me.
Either way, I was beaten for it when I got home. I was either weak or “thought I was tough”. My father made sure every decision I ever made became a contradiction. He made me face a consequence for every decision I made and no matter what, it was always his fist.
He knew his reputation, but he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was taking me and Mama to rock bottom with him.
Holidays were the worst because I always woke up to a bare tree with zero presents underneath.
Then I’d have to go to school and hear what Santa brought everyone else.
I didn’t know why he never visited me. I tried to be good, but it was never enough.
I’d even sneak out of my room to see if I could catch him, but I never did.
Then one morning, I woke up to a different Christmas. The aroma of warm sugar cookies filled the air. I could hear a Christmas movie playing softly on the television.
It was quiet . It was peaceful . It was right .
I shot out of bed in my ninja turtle pajama set and ran down the hallway. I nearly ran into my mother and caused her to drop the tray of cookies.
“Woah there, kiddo.” Propping the tray under one hand, she peered down at me with narrowed eyes. “Did you make your bed?”
“Yes,” I lied with a nod.
She gave me a knowing look, but let it go as she swiped a cookie off the tray and handed it to me. “Guess who came this year?”
My eyes widened as I bit into the cookie. With a mouthful, I asked, “Santa?” Not a second later, I heard a soft whine. Quickly swallowing, the cookie became long forgotten as I ran into the living room to find a small black dog in a crate, clawing at the metal door.
I felt so many things at once. I wanted to cry and laugh simultaneously as I stood frozen. My panicked heart reminded me to look around the room for him .
“He’s still over at Reynold’s,” my mother told me softly as she took a seat on the couch, wiping her hands on a rag.
My father’s been at Reynold’s for a week now.
It meant he was somewhere so long gone out of his mind that he forgot we existed.
My favorite days were when he forgot to come home.
Those were the days my mother and I could play pretend, if only for a little while because he eventually always came back.
And when he did, the world would start to hurt again.
“It’s mine?” I asked my mother as I stared at the small puppy with big brown eyes.
“Yes, my sweet boy, she’s yours. ”
I took a step closer. I will love you forever, I told her silently as she watched me with a curious head tilt. “I get to keep her?”
“You’ll be caring for her and teaching her to be a good girl. You think you can handle the responsibility?”
I nodded eagerly as I kneeled before the crate.
She pawed at the door again, getting impatient with me.
The moment I undid the latches, she let out a high-pitched bark and opened the door with her snout.
Then both of her paws landed on my chest causing me to fall onto my back as she attacked my face with kisses.
I did my best to dodge her tongue, but it was useless.
“Ok, ok!” I yelled through my laughter. Finally, she eased off to say hi to my mother.
It didn’t take her long to come back to me and poke my cheek with her wet nose.
At my laughter, she pounced into a play stance with her butt in the air as her tail wagged aggressively fast. She hopped back and forth in between barks, looking like a bunny.
It only made me laugh more. Her paws were too big for her body, and she tripped over them a lot.
“I think she likes the sound of your laugh,” she mused, letting out one of her own. I think she was right. The more I laughed, the rowdier she got. “You have to give her a name, so we know what to call her.”
It felt like a big responsibility to pick a name, and I didn’t give her one until a few days later when I watched her shred my favorite stuffed animal.
That’s when I started calling her Love, which my mom told me was a strange name for a dog, but I didn’t care because that’s what I felt when I looked at her.
My father came home not long after and when my mother told him about the dog, he was too drunk to form any thoughts. Love was smart enough to keep her distance from him .
When he finally came to, he backhanded Mama and called her terrible names that weren’t true.
I hid in my room because I was afraid of what he might do to Love if he saw her in that state of mind.
Sensing my distress, Love took it upon herself to lay directly on top of me while she growled quietly at the door.
For the first time, I didn’t feel alone anymore. I was glad to have Love with me and I think it put my mother at ease to know that I was being watched over. That she’d protect me from my father. Love was also my mother’s way of giving me a companion.
It didn’t take long before Love did something to upset him. I had been drawing in my room and I was certain she was lying on my bed but then I heard my father yell, “Stupid fucking bitch!” A sharp cry followed his outburst.
I was on my feet and running down the hall. I quickly pieced it all together as my father had a chewed-up remote in his hand. He scared her so badly that she peed on the floor.
“Jules come get this dog before I kill it!” When he reared his hand back with the remote, I lunged in front of her.
“No!” I screamed, blocking her body with my own. Holding up my hands, I cried out, “She’s sorry!”
“I’ll show her sorry!” He picked me up by my shirt and threw me to the side.
Love barked as she scurried over to me. She started to growl then—even as she shook in fear. My mother appeared then from their bedroom, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Go to your room, Julian. Dax, she’s only a puppy, and it’s only a remote. We can get a new one.”
“He’s staying put, you stupid cunt. She pissed on the rug, Jules. If I don’t teach her, who will?” He stood upright with his anger and that scared me more.
“Because you scared her!” I yelled, and it was the wrong thing to do because he lunged for me. Love showed her teeth, but before either of us could do anything, my mother was on his back and caused him to lose his balance.
“Go to your room!” she screamed at me before my father slung her off him.
Grabbing Love by the collar I made sure to take her with me as I ran to my room and locked the door.
I tucked myself into bed and I called Love to lay beside me.
I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face in her fur as I waited for it to be over.
You’re going to be important someday.
The sound of glass shattering sounded past my door and then my mother’s cries came next.
You’re a prince, Julian.
“I’m sorry for giving you this life,” I whispered to Love in the darkness as tears poured down my face.
Always remember that.
“You deserve better than us.”
It means something.