Limonene |H. S.|

16. to love a man

I apologize for being so late
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Up until now, my eighteen years of life have proven to be a neverending tale of avoidance and negligence. Many would call the actions childish, but I believe they were the most mature I could do.

I would dodge the very things that made me feel just an ounce of displeasure. The boys at school who I was too afraid to reject, my reflection in the mirror from time to time, the friends I figured I was better off without, the people who would gain the power to actually hurt me.

Avoidance was better than acceptance.

Knowing something is there and turning the blind eye is so much better than paying attention to it, letting it dig it's claws inside of you and turn your life into an early onset of sleepless nights and wet pillowcases.

So, when I was twelve and my dad first started drinking, I brushed his alcoholism off as sadness. His sister had been missing and was now proclaimed dead, he was spiraling and even at that age, I kind of understood the relief that alcohol could bring. I was empathetic and hell, some nights I would even stay up with him while he cried on the dining room table, never letting the bottle go.

But, that was six years ago. I wouldn't know what it's like to lose someone you love as much as he did his sister, but I don't think he still drinks because he's mourning her. I feel for him, I do. He's my father and there's a better part of me that loves him unlike anyone else. There's a little girl living in my consciousness, she still thinks her father is one of the best people on this earth, and she could never imagine he'd do anything to hurt her family.

Unfortunately for us, we can't live off the memories of distant yesterday's.

He's not a faded memory, he's quite real, sitting across from me on the kitchen table and whining about how the coffee burnt his tongue. My mother smiles, patting his shoulder before pushing a glass of orange juice into his hand. I stab my sausage at the sight, undesirable anger blowing up my insides because what the hell? A few days ago she was practically sobbing, kicking him out of their room while he drunkenly stumbled somewhere else, and now they want me to think they're America's happiest marriage?

It was enraging, I was livid, even if my mother would drill into my head that it wasn't any of my business. Guess what, mom? Whatever is up with you two became my business the day you decided to have me.

"I'm going to school." I blurt out after seeing them kiss, taking my half empty plate to the counter.

"Already? It's only seven thirty." My dad checks his watch, lowering his hand to my mom's waist.

"Yeah, I have to pick something up." I had half the mind to ignore him and just walk out, but that wasn't me. Even if he's had episodes lately where he acts like a complete ass, he's still the man who works day in and day out to ensure our comfortable way of living.

"See you later." She calls out before I dissapear into the garage door.

I patiently sit in my car while it warms up, not bothering to put on any music because my mood was too dire.

I wonder if this is how my mother felt, like she couldn't act up or leave because she felt that she owed my dad too much. That's how I feel and that's what stops me from saying anything. The car I drive, the phone and phone line I used, the computer and the television in my room, karate classes and annual trips to Disneyland, every other household appliance and the trampoline I've had in my backyard since I was ten, they were all given to me by him. Everything that I owned I had because he gave it to me, how can I not feel guilty about wanting him to go away? To leave my mom alone because only then would I feel completely fine.