2. - #3
“And I adore him,” she admitted, “that’s why I need to break down and tell him about all of this, too.
I’ve kept it bottled up for so many years.
But the last memory I have of my father was what happened about two days before he walked out for good.
It was a Thursday night in April of 1979.
I was getting ready for bed; I’d put on my gown and washed my face.
Mom came in to kiss me goodnight. She brushed the hair away from my forehead and kissed me.
I hugged her around the neck and told her I loved her.
She told me that she loved me to the moon and back, and always would, until her dying breath.
“I drifted off to sleep, knowing that that sorry son of a bitch was in his leather recliner in the living room, getting toasted.
The next thing I remembered was seeing the living room light creep into my room, and I heard the creak of my bedroom door.
As I was shaking off the sleep, I remember seeing him standing there, about six feet away from me, his form backlit, but I could see that he was wearing his dark red terry cloth bathrobe, and it was loosely tied around the waist and gaping open.
He was only wearing his underwear underneath his robe, and he was slowly walking towards me.
I could smell the whiskey on him when he spoke.
“I was fully awake by this time, and terrified, and he said, ‘You know the only way to really hurt your Mama is to hurt you.’”
“I was getting ready to scream for Mama, then I saw her silhouette in the doorway, holding the big cast-iron skillet. Then, I remember her saying, ‘John Robert, you don’t need to be in there bothering her, get on back in here.’”
“He turned around and glared at her, and I was so scared, for her and for myself.
I was nine years old and old enough to know that she had endangered herself by interrupting whatever he was going to do.
I get absolutely nauseous when I think about what he might have been planning to do, standing there in just his robe.
He was my own father for Christ's sake. He turned towards her and walked back to the living room.
“That’s when the fighting started. Arguing, screaming, breaking glass, and the sounds of furniture being moved.
I was so scared that I got up and crawled under the bed to hide while shaking and crying, then all of a sudden, I heard the front door slam.
Mama came back to my room and just said, ‘It’s alright now, baby, he’s gone.
Probably headed to his girlfriend’s.’ She had what would become the worst bruise I have ever seen forming on her left cheek. She winced as she touched it.
“Then I remember hoping that he would never come back.”
She had looked so sad recounting all of this, and it only brought more relevance to the reality of how close she and Memaw always were. In a way, they were each other’s protector and salvation.
“Jesus, Mom, that’s messed up! I never knew that happened to you.” I cringed at the thought.
“How could you have known? As I said, I’ve never told anyone, not even your dad. But I’m going to because he deserves to know.”
I just nodded, and the room fell silent again, both of our eyes tracing the pattern in memaw’s washable living room rug.
“Anyway,” she broke the silence once more, “two days after that, we found his lunchbox by the old stump near the road where he would sometimes catch a ride into work. He had completely disappeared from our lives. Honestly, I’d never been happier, and I’ve never looked back.
I don’t know if he’s alive or dead, and I really don’t give a damn.
I have lived my life going forward, knowing that sometimes you must jettison toxic people.
Your memaw understood that all too well, and as far as I know, she never looked for him, either.
It was tough financially, but Grandma those burgers are smelling good.”