Glass Bear

     I moved into the living room hesitantly, my feet navigating the debris on the floor, broken glass shattering underfoot. I reached for the thick black curtains, pulling them aside and opening the window wide, breathing in deeply. It was just as I had remembered from sixteen years ago. The room was dark and musky, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol permeating the air. The dust I had disturbed swirled in the rays of light, drifting towards the window as if they wanted to escape the confines of this house. I never thought I would be returning to this place.

     I set the keys down on the corner of the kitchen table, trying to keep as calm as possible. I made my way through the house, opening curtains and turning on lights, trying to illuminate the place as much as possible, but the darkness lingered in every corner, waiting to creep back into sight. Shadows lingered on the yellowed walls, echoing the movements the previous inhabitants made.

     I moved to the end of the hallway, tentatively touching the door leading to the basement stairs. Two weeks ago, I had been planning out a week long vacation with my partner. We were discussing the paths we would take, the scenes we would see, our excitement building with each detail when my sister called. My half-sister. I hadn't seen her in sixteen years, yet we had kept in contact through the years, keeping me up to date with her life at home with Rick, our father. She had moved away from him two years ago, her mother divorcing our father and moving to another state with all four of my half-siblings, just as my mom had done twenty years before.

     "Rick has passed away." That was all I really remembered her saying. The details about the funeral and the rights to his property didn't register to my mind at the time. It was all background noise in that moment. I couldn't tell what I was supposed to feel. I had hung up and continued with my day as if nothing had happened. A week later a set of keys and an address arrived in my mailbox, and now here I was, standing in his house.

     I turned away from the basement door, deciding to look through the bookshelves instead. I didn't know him very well. I didn't really know him at all. I grew up without him and only visited him once, and what I learned, I tried to forget. Most of the books looked new and unopened, the spines unbroken beneath their coats of dust. The few that had been opened had circular burns in the cover. Burning pain shot through my arm and I dropped the books. Screams and shouts filled the air, the light fading slowly as the darkness crept slowly inwards. Then the pain stopped and silence reigned once more.

     Gritting my teeth I wheeled around, picked up one of the bottles from the table and smashed it against the wall, the broken shards scattering across the stained hardwood floor, colliding with the pieces already there. I kept going, projecting the beer bottles onto the wall until the anger subsided. I collapsed on the sofa, heart pounding, sweat beading on my forehead. I locked eyes with my reflection in the TV screen and saw him looking back at me. His eyes filled with disgust and anger, hands balled into fists, perched on the edge of the sofa, ready to attack. I cursed and looked away. He was in every reflection I saw.

     "You look just like your dad," my mother told me every time she remembered him. "Especially when you're angry." I cursed again, lurching to my feet and heading to the bedroom. The screams were coming back again, echoing faintly down the hall beyond the basement door. The house continued to sink into darkness, the shadows on the walls became more defined and ominous as the sun sank towards the horizon.

     The bedroom was cold, the window ajar and the thick scent of rotting wood burrowing itself into my nose. The bed was a mess, blankets rumpled and blood stained. The door to his gun safe open, the hand pistol missing from the top shelf. Beer bottles and cigarette butts had infiltrated this room as well, the bedside table barely visible beneath the clutter. I heard the click of the pistol's hammer being drawn back, the pressure of the barrel on the back of my head. The bedsprings sprang into action, rhythmically compressing and squeaking, the sickly taste of alcohol pouring down my throat.

     "SHUT UP!" My chest burned, my body growing weaker and weaker by the second, the darkness sinking in faster. His voice echoed from the basement, yelling over the screams, my skin burning from the pressure of my being trying to escape the confines of this house. I sank to the ground, holding tightly to the necklace around my neck, screaming to drown out the noise, trying to remember to breathe, to focus, to relax, to think about happier times, to know that I was safe, to remember he wasn't there. The pain dulled, the noise fading into the background as I held the necklace close to my heart, the shadows melting into the walls once more.

     I pulled myself together, trying to resist the desire to run. I stumbled to my bag, rummaging for the package I had brought. It was now or never. I ran down the hall to the basement door, the package held tightly in my hand. I couldn't run away now. I couldn't give up and leave. This was my only chance. The door opened onto a flight of stairs descending into darkness. I flipped the switch and made my way down as I had done a hundred times in my nightmares, each step taking me deeper into the past. Rounding the turn, I looked down. The cracked concrete floor was covered in dirt and blood, illuminated by a single swinging incandescent light bulb.

     Four iron pillars broke through the ground to the ceiling, forming a square in the center of the basement, the green paint chipping away from the rusted surface. Piles of trash and discarded boxes lined the unfinished walls, insulation crumbling in piles on the floor. And there he was, prowling around the figure curled up on the floor, a belt in one hand and a beer in the other.

     "Shut your mouth! What do I have to do to get you to listen to your father?" His voice roared from every direction, coming from his mouth, the walls, the stairs, echoing in every fiber of the house. "I will never allow it! Even if I have to do this all night, I will not have a dyke as a daughter! Not under my roof!" The screams reverberated through the room, over and over, an endless soundtrack that had repeated in my dreams for the last sixteen years. With shaking hands I unwrapped the package as I descended, the small glass bear falling from the folds and into my hand, icy cold to the touch.

     Sixteen years I kept the bear tucked away in the corner of a box, the back of a shelf, the confines of my car trunk, hidden away but never tossed out. Out of guilt perhaps, out of a lost love for a father I had imagined, or wish I had. The glass bear, the only present he had ever given me, the monster prowling before my eyes. Tears streamed from my eyes, my chest burning in fear, in sorrow, in regret, in guilt. I held the bear high above my head as the screams and shrieks got louder, ready to smash it upon the concrete floor. The only physical thing I had that connected me to him.

     Rick's figure stopped moving, turning towards me as if he was actually there with me, looking at me with the same anger I had looked upon myself with for years. Suddenly, the anger within myself subsided as I looked at him. I lowered the bear. "I'm sorry," I said hesitantly. "I thought I was supposed to destroy what you gave me, but that wouldn't accomplish anything." I set the bear gently down on the concrete floor, looking up at Rick, his eyes hostile, beard unkempt, his face untouched by the years of time. I moved away from him, approaching the crying figure upon the floor.

     I knelt beside her, wrapping my arms around her protectively. I held her, myself, tightly. I began to feel the hatred, guilt, and shame he had beat into me finally start to fade away. My body finally relaxing, the phantom pain vanishing as the screams faded into silence. I held her close, whispering to her that it would be okay, that she was going to be safe, be loved, be protected, and supported. Telling her that none of this was her fault. As their figures faded, I smiled for the first time that week, crying as I stood. I made my way out of the basement and to the bedroom, the last place he breathed before taking his own life. I stood by the door, looking into the empty disheveled room.

     "I may not have grown up the way you wanted," I said, feeling stronger by the minute. "But I'm happy. Happier than I've ever been with another person. I really wish you could have met her, my wife. She makes me the happiest person ever." I held the necklace she gave me close to my heart once more, the emerald green lighting the darkness, warming my body as I stood at the door. "Goodbye, Dad." I closed the bedroom door, grabbed my bag, locked the door, and left, the glass bear standing strong for me beneath the house I never called home.