As I sit and think most days I can feel the anger channeling through me. Air feels like a disease when I breathe in and the feeling intensifies. Exhaling pushes out the feelings, for a time. Sometimes I feel I should stop breathing entirely. Perhaps that might be a quick fix for this situation.
February 2010, arguing voices fill my ears. My mother was part of my biological family as my step-father wasn’t -All that aside because he felt like a real father to me. My mother was equally fine….or as fine as to expect. When this handcuff commonly known as a marriage started, I was different. Having the marriage start five years ago, I was a child -A rapscallion child at that. My step-father had taught me through those years. He helped me come to a more intelligent and self-conscious me. I don’t have a clue to whether my mother may have been capable of the same.
They were arguing about how to treat me and where I should and shouldn’t be. I just started having a real relationship with dad in the middle of 2009. I was always upset when they argued. I also thought that if I weren’t there, they would get along better. They agreed on all the same concepts, except me.
Dad storms out as he tosses a few words behind him,” Jon, lets roll!”
Mom faces me with tears ready to cascade down her cheeks,” Don’t go Jon, you can’t,” and then slightly more desperate,” You won’t.”
As most male teenagers would do, I walked away without a word and followed dad. Dad liked partying on the weekend and it was unfortunately a weekend. So as usual we strolled off into the neighbor’s yard where a couple of his friends were sitting. The next house down was blue and light tan, colors that I have come to feel awkward around. His friends were discussing politics on a biased account of a modern conservative republican.
I felt bad for turning away from mom but I didn’t know what to do when it had happened. I was sitting there thinking why I didn’t say anything to her when I saw my mother’s car drive away. Dad and his friends saw too. Consequently, we started over to the house’s unwelcoming dark tan color.
“….I just don’t understand it!”Dad said as he finished telling his side of the argument.
“Dad, what if this is it?”I spoke in a voice reserved for situations having emotional tidings.
“Whatd’ya mean?” he replied
We entered through the over hanging rafters that made the whole house, the dry desert, and all like surroundings even more depressing. He knew what I meant when he rushed towards the bedroom door with sweat sparkling on his cheeks. He turned the dirty brass knob like he was pulling out a rosary from a confessional. Finding it locked threw him off. His look on his face seemed almost as though he was about to fight a professional wrestler. We went around the house in a rush. Words would mean nothing if they were to come out of one of our mouths. The window to the bedroom was open letting the rough and desolate smell of common grease wood in. She went out the back window in hope of making a getaway with the girls and leave.
Hours that I would call years went by. Dad wanted to make sure that I would be vouching for him. I knew already that I didn’t want to leave him. He always liked being sure of everything and having his plans right. Maybe that was one of the reasons for enjoying his presence. Another reason for wanting him might have been me preferring to have someone as sturdy and in touch with the world as a role model.
Finally mom came back. Only instead of being alone as we thought she would come, she was being followed by a deputy sheriff. They parked up in a position that looked as though it was thoroughly planned. Dad and his friends were on one side, mom and my sisters on the other, and the officer headed toward the middle. I was squinting to try and see through the darkness that had almost seemed like it enveloped us as soon as they parked. After a brief conversation with the two of them he called me over.
“Jon, are you aware of the situation undergoing between your mother and father?”He said.
The communication between me and this uninteresting officer was long and dull. It felt like he just droned on so that he can be paid in a week or two. His brown shirt, khaki pants, and all of the gear were a cover. I knew that he had a story. Whether it was worse or more pain stricken I wouldn’t know. I just couldn’t come to a conclusion on why he treated me and my parents as scraps unless he was completely cold inside.
“You understand that you must go with your mother because of biological references, correct?”He said in a tone I knew was meaning that the conversation was over.
Knowing he would throw the ‘biological references’ card I gave in, “sure sir, I understand.”
I didn’t want to go with mom because I knew how she acted under stress. She would be angered easily. I hated to get her angry. She would always be clumsy with my feelings. Unfortunately I had no choice. I stepped into the red Pontiac that now resembled the pain I am going through and the pain yet to come. Ever pain I thought of it as. Pain lasting forever and eternity.
“Dad…..can I have your phone number please?” I said in a shaky voice.
“Sure,” he replied.
He never did.
I rolled down the window. The screeching noise gave me chills of what would happen if he didn’t give it to me. He was writing it on a piece of his cigarette pack. I could hear mom speaking arguments against it repeatedly in a voice cross between a whisper and a scream. As all of his misfortune was happening the police officer was standing there with a face usually worn on someone watching a late night reality show.
“Here, take it, hurry.” Dad said as he reached to deliver the phone number.
It was too late.
Just as he was sticking it into the window mom stepped on the acceleration of her car to drive away. I glimpsed the paper fluttering away along with my feelings of love towards him. Regrettably blurs from tears were the only thing I remember thereafter.
Now my step-father has been able to call again. Most might say it is like nothing happened. But a few things are wrong with that belief. I don’t see dad regularly anymore and I still feel it. I still feel the anger and sorrow that overcame me that night. I know that I was the main factor in this mess. Most of all, I know nothing will ever be the same. So as I sit in my chair facing away from the light, I wait for the anger, stress, and despair to go away.
End