The Boiling of the Bones

3. Nightmare

I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing. When morning came, I threw on clothes and Rob picked me up for school. It was cool seeing old friends again. But I was so tired I feel asleep in English class. I couldn't concentrate, my mind wandered all day.

So it went, for several weeks. I took one day at a time, every day, just surviving that day.

One afternoon dad staggered clumsily toward me as I came in the front door. He'd clearly been waiting to ambush me, drinking heavily the entire time. From the stern look on his face, he was stewing over something. He caught the newel post at the base of the staircase to brace himself.

"I got a phone call from one of your teachers. You're only three weeks into the new school year and you haven't turned in any homework assignments and you're already failing. Is that true?"

"I guess."

He moved in close and unwittingly sprayed a stream of spit in my face as he yelled.

"When are you going to grow up?"

"I don't know," I answered truthfully as I wiped my face.

"We're throwing away good money to send you to a great private school."

"I'll go to public school."

"This garbage has got to stop. You have to buckle down, do homework, study for exams. I don't care if you like it or not, people have to do things they don't like to succeed in life and this crap has absolutely got to stop right now. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Not much," I admitted weakly.

"Not much? That's all you can say? Not much? You're a failure. You're a pathetic loser and all you can say is not much? That doesn't bother you? Because it bothers me."

"Not really."

"Why don't you want to make something of yourself? It's not difficult. All you have to do is make an effort. I can hire tutors and get you whatever help you need. You'll be surprised how quickly you can pull straight A's if you try. When you succeed, you'll have higher self-esteem, and you might even be able to get into a pretty good college if you put in an impressive senior year. It's not too late."

"Sure," I agreed in a submissive, although passive aggressive tone. My self-esteem was abysmal when he belittled me like that. I felt beat down and broken inside, to the point of no longer caring about anything. I was carrying around a lot of pain and it was exhausting.

Just then he spilled his drink, and that pissed him off.

"What's wrong with you? I'm trying to help you and you're patronizing me and frankly your attitude is making me madder than hell. The least you can do is look me in the eyes and give me an honest answer when I ask you a question. I swear one of these days I'm going to smack you. It would probably do you good to have someone smack some sense into you."

I felt like a criminal getting interrogated. I desperately wanted him to leave me alone. I wanted to disappear or hide under a rock.

After yelling for ten minutes, he finally sent me to my room. He continued yelling at mom after I left, then she yelled back at him. I felt like crying. I wished he would've hit me and gotten it over with. But he never did–not intentionally anyway. My father threatened it occasionally, but he would only yell and scream, and eventually in frustration, send me to my room. Seemed like he was always drinking whenever he got angry. I swear to God I will never touch a drop of alcohol so long as I live.