No this is not mine. I think. It can’t be. “Are you the father, boy?” I look at her. Her eyes are soft and pleading “Please stay, Evan.” She whispers, clutching that thing to her chest, a boy, they say. I hate it here the smell of hand sanitizer reminds me of death, let alone birth. “Boy, are you the father?” the nurse says again, growing impatient. I shrug “I guess.” I say my voice is gruff. Baby Jonson the name tag read, I don’t know why the stupid doctors used my name, this isn’t my mess. “Evan…” Nicolette says beginning to panic. “My parents…” I shrugged again. “His name is River.” She whispers, changing the subject entirely, well his name could be Jake or Willy or Daniel, the fact that I’m not his father still remains the same. “He has your eyes,” She says. Hugging the baby tighter with each word. “My little man.” Shut up I think. Shut up! Shut. Up. “I told you to get an abortion.” I say, really not caring what naïve remark she has for me. The nurse gives me a look that almost made me angry. Almost. I swear to god that Nicolette will not see me angry. Not now anyways. “Take River away,” Nicolette says to the nurse who as staring at me with those hard cold eyes of hers. So innocent, so pure, so wholesome. So Nicolette. Out of all the girls I knew she was the one with a baby. My baby. I guess. “You know I couldn’t have done that,” She says, after a while, a hint of gullibility in her voice. “What?” I ask, running my figures through my hair in frustration. “Too kill a child in cold blood.” Nicolette replied, twisting the gold cross that hung around her neck on a golden chain. Her religion. One of the many reasons why she is now deemed parentless. “Jeez, Etta!” I yell. No longer afraid to let my anger show. Nicolette jerked back, startled by my short temper. “Indoor voices, Evan.” She says calmly. I laugh. A horrid howling sound. “I’m worrying about you and your… Baby-kid whatever. And you you’re talking about flippin’ indoor voices.” “I worry about River and myself too!” Nicolette snarls, “I can’t go back home… I need your help, Evan!” I stare at her hard, looking for any sign of humour. It’s a joke all a joke. “Help?” I say softly. “Can I- River and I stay with you?” She asks so quietly that I have to block out all my other thoughts to hear. “With you and your father?” I shake my head no, no, no. Why is this happening to me? With my father? “I-I’ll work after school, I’ll pay rent. I’ll cook. Evan, I’m homeless.” Etta begged, tears running down her cheeks. “Etta…” I murmur reaching for her hands, which where clamped around her chest. “Get out!” Nicolette shrieks, yanking her hands away, her sadness transferring into anger. “To hell with you! I’ll go to my Aunt’s home in Michigan, since you hate your son so much!” So I left. My shoes squeaking on the tallied floor. And as I walked through the halls I saw him, River. He wore a white nappy and a blue cap. He did look like me… A little. It was at that moment that I realized that I hated myself more than I can ever hate this little boy. My son. Her worlds echo in my mind making me want to cry out, you hate your son so much!
?
“You Okay, Ivan?” Natasha asked, I refuse to call that woman “mom.” I ignored her. Hoping give up a just leave. “How’d it go,” she asked cocking her head to the left, trying to show interest. “It’s none of your concern, to be honest.” I say acid dripping from each word. Natasha’s face went from warm to cold it a heartbeat. “Get up!” she yells yanking me up be my shirt “you little punk!” she dragged me down to dad’s work shop where Dad stayed. Always. I remember when I was six I fell off my skate board and broke my arm. Dad told me to “Stop complaining get over it.” And went back to work. Always work over his son. “Tommy, babe” Natasha whined. “Evan insulted me!” Dad turned away from his work and greeted me with an angry face and cold eyes. “You’re a little s***, Ivan.” A shoved my hands in my pockets to resist the urge to punch him. “Evan,” I whispered. Dad took a step forward. “What?! You gettin’ fresh with me, boy?!” I he snarls. “My name is Evan, Evan, Evan! All my life you’ve called me ‘Ivan.’ All. My. Freaking. Life. Ivan is not my name!” Dad didn’t say anything just dug around in his tool box mumbling various swear words. Dad finally found what he was looking for- a huge box wrench with one end missing- Dad scraped the wrenches sharp jagged end in a diagonal line across my face. The wrench ripped open my skin causing blood to pour down my face in a heavy stream. I grunted. But nothing more. The agony of that wrench was away too familiar for me to cry about. The pain was a reminder about who’s in charge. “Get out!” Dad said gruffly. I left quickly, tears begin running down my cheeks and mix with my blood. That’s my life for you, tears and blood. Dad’s never once said that he loves me. Maybe once or twice when Mum was alive. But never after her death. He’s never taken me out, played sports with me, never taught me how to ride a bike. Never cared. I’d rather see a kid die than see it have a father like mine. He’s a terrible dad. How can I not be the same way? River’s better off without me. Way better