44. INTO THE DARK.
INTO THE DARK.
There was a couple that wanted to adopt me. For a brief amount of time, I knew what hope was again. It was only after I saw them talking with Dr. Garrison that they stopped looking in my direction during the meet-and-greet events.
When I tried to go to them to ask if I’d done something wrong, they were quick to scurry in the opposite direction. I confronted Dr. Garrison in our next session about what he’d said to them. His answer was, “Only what they needed to know.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Julian, please, you must understand that not everyone is equipped for someone of your nature.”
I scoffed in disbelief, a pain I recognized well stabbing me in the chest. “So you warned them off me, is that right?”
“It’s not like that,” he was quick to defend. “I didn’t disclose anything we’ve discussed in our sessions, only what’s public record.”
I shook my head as my vision went black in the corners. I tugged at the roots of my hair and felt nothing. My body curled inward, cringing at the very existence of me. “You’ve taken the one thing I had going right for me.”
“This was not an act of sabotage or betrayal, Julian. I did this for the good of everyone involved. While no past is simple, yours is rather more complicated and scares most—”
“Fuck you!” I stood and walked toward the door.
Looking flustered, he set down the folder and started to stand. “Please sit down. Let’s get through these emotions together.”
With my hand on the knob, I looked back at him over my shoulder. “I trusted you and do you know what you’ve now given me?” I asked. I waited for a beat of his silence before swinging open the door. “Nothing to lose.”
I’d plotted my next move for days but held off for one reason only; or rather one person in particular. It was a week later and a missed therapy session when I found Abigail in her room crying.
Everything inside of me coiled tight at the sight. “What’s wrong?” I asked her, shutting her bedroom door gently behind me.
She looked up at me, startled, but then began to cry harder as she shook her head.
Her skin was splotchy and she hiccuped, unable to catch her breath enough to get a word out.
I sat down on the bed next to her and pulled her into my arms. Her tears soaked my shirt, and she squeezed me so tight that my worry only grew.
Bracing myself for her answer, I asked, “Abby, did someone hurt you?”
I felt her shake her head against my chest. I slightly relaxed as I wondered what else could have her reacting this way. A cold thought crossed my mind, and I froze. “You’re getting adopted?” I whispered.
Her fists tightened their grasp on my shirt. When I felt her nod this time, a strange feeling washed over me. I was happy for her, I was , but. . .
“I don’t want to leave you,” she confessed.
“You have to,” I heard myself say, dissociating from the agony I felt at the idea of being alone again. I didn’t let people in, but I let her. “Where will you be?”
“New Jersey,” she answered, her voice shaking violently.
My heart cracked so loudly in my chest that the sound echoed in my ears. “Ok.”
She leaned back to look at me, wiping her tears from her cheeks. “Ok? That’s all you have to say?”
I swallowed and my throat felt like sandpaper. “I’m happy for you.”
Her face morphed into concern. “Julian.”
“I am Abigail. Let’s just leave it at that, all right?”
“But I’m sad.”
I forced a smile and roughed up her hair. “Don’t be. You’re getting what every kid like us wants—a family. Don’t forget for a second how lucky you are.”
I brOKE INTO THE liquor cabinet in the basement that Theresa didn’t think any of us knew about and snuck out of the house in the middle of the night.
I took a bus to Stockbridge, and I could barely take a steady step by the time I got there.
I was brimming with the sort of anger and sadness that could only be contained by exertion.
The rage had been harbored inside me with no place to go for too long. To be rid of it, I needed to put it back in the place it grew from.
I walked through the same town I rode my bike through when I was younger. The same town that took the life right out of me and churned me into this shell of a body .
My legs carried me to my old neighborhood, and I let the heaviness of my worthless life weigh down on me.
I lost everything here and I could no longer let myself exist in two places at once.
Dr. Garrison said that I needed to own my past to stop it from having power over me.
There was only one way I knew how to do that.
The trailer was abandoned and falling apart. Curtains were strewn outside the broken windows and overgrown weeds were extended along the siding panels.
The screen door was off the hinges and lying atop the dirty steps, covered in algae. I pushed it aside with my foot, feeling my heart pound louder and louder with each step I took toward the front door with a small diamond-shaped window. I twisted the knob and found it locked.
I took another chug of the cheap vodka before backing up a few steps and ramming my shoulder into the door. It was a lot easier than I expected and it sent me tumbling face-first onto the dirty floor that ironically had my face pressed into it many times.
A shudder rolled through me as my eyes took in the abandoned space.
I reached for the spilled bottle and used it to lift myself onto my knees. It was too dark to see much of anything, but I could see the outline of furniture—at least what hadn’t been stolen. The recliner my dad always sat in, the kitchen table, and a floor lamp.
Standing on my feet, I stepped deeper into my childhood. Leaves and god knows what else crunched beneath my feet.
I stood over my father’s chair, put the bottle to my lips, and tilted it. I spit the liquid out in a stream over the fabric. “How’s hell, old man?”
Laughing humorlessly, I made my way down the narrow hallway, letting the contents from the bottle fall as I did. I let the bitter liquid wash away every lie I told to stay alive; every bruise I covered to protect the man who never protected me; every broken promise made by a broken mother.
I wanted to erase it.
There was nothing left in my room but a single shoe that belonged to a boy I would never let exist again. I moved onto my parent’s room next—the one they hardly shared. I was always afraid for my mother on the nights they did.
The bed frame was gone, but the mattress sat on the floor and the nightstand on my mother’s side was still there. The same lamp, too. Then, there was something I tried my best to forget—The blood stains on the carpet and bedding.
My body went cold and numb at the sight. For a moment, I couldn’t move at all. Everything came washing over me like a flash flood. I pinched my eyes shut and took a slow deep breath.
Forcing myself to stay focused, I made my way over to the nightstand, taking another chug of a liquid that no longer had a taste to it.
I pulled open the drawer to find it empty.
It wasn’t until I slammed it shut, that something fell and landed on the carpet.
Crouching, I picked it up and brought it closer.
My heart fell to my ass as I realized it was a Polaroid picture of my mom standing outside of this very trailer, holding her pregnant belly at age sixteen.
Turning it over, I found scribbles of her handwriting. It was a list of names.
I snorted at the ridiculousness of the last one.
It was at that moment that I realized it didn’t matter who my father was. For my entire life, I had always belonged to my mother, Jules Prince. I shared my father’s last name, but at least I’d always have my mother’s eyes.
I slid the photo into the pocket of my jeans and stood once more. I raised the bottle and poured the contents over the bed. I kept pouring as I walked back down the hall and toward the front door. I let it roll from my fingertips and clatter to the floor before walking out.
I lifted the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and then shoved my hands into my pockets as I took a few steps away from the house. Turning around, I pulled out a zippo lighter and a cigarette. I flipped the top and a tall orange flame appeared.
I lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, not stopping until my lungs burned.
Fuck it .
I tossed the lighter through the broken window and watched as my past went up in flames.
When the neighbors started to turn their lights on, I fled.
I waited for the pain to burn with that house.
I waited for it to stop. For a moment, I got my wish.
For a moment, I got to feel what it was like to let something go.
When the familiar field came into view, I stopped in my tracks, my breath ragged and my face soaked. I waded my way through the overgrown grass. With tears streaming down my face, I plucked a dandelion from the dirt. Twisting the stem between my fingers, I laid on my back and laughed at the sky.
“Oh, my sweet boy.” I swore I heard my mother’s voice. “What have you done?”
“I want it to be over now,” I admitted to no one—to nothing.
IT WAS LATE IN the morning by the time I could catch another bus back to Boston. When I arrived at the house, there were three cop cars lined along the sidewalk.
I’d just made it up the stairs when Abigail barreled out the front door and threw her arms around me.
“Where were you?” she cried. “I thought you were dead!” She pulled away only to push me. It caused me to lose my balance and stumble down the steps. She followed with anger and pain etched across her tear-stained face as she pointed maliciously at me. “You’re my family, don’t you get that?”
I nodded, the backs of my eyes burning.
“You may not think you mean much, but you mean a shit ton to me. I wouldn’t have survived without you, and I can’t leave you knowing that you won’t keep fighting for the future I always have to keep reminding you about.”