She left. Just like that; no warning beforehand, just vanished off the face of the earth.
Trish had been my girlfriend for three weeks. All through the summer holidays we’d talked and not once had she mentioned not coming back for the next school year. I hadn’t liked her that much, but she was beautiful and I missed her a bit. That accounts for something, right?
A current of rage sweeps through me as I remember how sweet she’d been all summer. Trying to let it out, I knock down a tumbler sitting innocently on my writing desk. The fragments cut me and draw blood but I’m way past feeling that and as I watch the scarlet beads that form my blood drip-dripping onto the hardwood floor of my room, a flood of painful memories come rushing back.
***
I remember a time when I was nine and my mum and I were seated on the sofa watching my favorite show on TV. I remember wishing the moment would last forever when suddenly Kenny the human boar stormed drunkenly into the room. Eyes blazing, clothes dripping, he looked quite the character.
My mum had tried to welcome him home but he’d brushed her off.
"Did you miss me?" he had slurred, staggering towards us.
Mum had flinched but stayed put, avoiding eye contact with him.
"I said." he had repeated grabbing her neck in the process. "Did you miss me?"
"Get your grubby hand off of me." she'd replied shakily. Her eyes looked hard as she tried to pry his fingers off. I was a bit surprised because mum rarely challenged Kenny
"Don't you dare talk back at me Samantha." he had said. "Now be a loving wife and go make dinner." he commanded. Releasing her roughly from his grip as he staggered over to a chair and sat down.
Mum hadn't wanted to anger him so she began making her way out of the sitting room.
"Jericho." the words came out slurred, but he still managed to sound aggresive. "You didn't welcome your father."
I hesitated in my reply, scared and trying to figure out what to say. That seemed to tick him off though because he got a wild look in his eyes and threatened to give me a good spanking.
"Don't you dare touch him." mum had retorted, stopping in her tracks and that alone had earned her a beautiful slap which resonated throughout the living room.
I had begun to cry then, pleading with him not to hurt mom to no avail.
when he was satisfied with the tears running down her face, he seemed to finally register my actions. "You!" he growled, as his eyes narrowed to slits. My father lunged at me with such speed that we both crashed onto the floor, upturning the sofa whilst glass from his shattered liquor bottle cut my arm.
Rushing towards me, my mum began to scream. She’d somehow managed to pull Kenny away and swept me into her arms, crying.
“Samantha I didn’t mean…” he’d begun to say, seemingly less drunk than before as he’d moved towards my mother but she had cut him off screaming “don’t touch me!”
Pulling me along, she’d marched down the hall, into her room and carefully bandaged my arm. It was a strenuous affair as I kept trashing about from the pain but with soothing words from her, the deal was finally done. Then she had packed her stuff into a box and told me to come with her. As we’d made our way to my room, Kenny had followed us trying to stop her. He’d held onto my box and demanded that she go into the kitchen to prepare dinner but my mum pushed his hand off it and told him to get lost. She complained that she was tired of living like this and had been planning to leave him for a long time anyway. Mum had even challenged Kenny to stop her and that had earned her another slap.
Thwack! Came the sound and it took me a while to realize that mum had slapped him back.
"That's the last time you dare touch me Kennedy!" she had spat and with her head held high, she’d taken my hand and led me outside to the car. After loading our boxes into the trunk and strapping me into my car seat, she’d gotten the car started and without so much as a backwards glance at Kenny who had once again followed us and was currently making threats and banging on the car. Mum backed the car out of the driveway.
My father had run after the car, screaming several obscenities but instead of slowing down to hear him out, mum had hit the accelerator and we were on our way.
Only when he was out of earshot did her bravado collapse, she’d parked the car on the side of the road and dissolved into teeth rattling sobs that would surely have thrown the car off the road had she not parked. I’ve never seen a grown woman cry that way before. Not ever.
I remember saying “please don’t cry mummy” in my shaky little voice. I hadn’t fully understood what was happening at the time but I knew my mother crying was a sign that something was wrong. I also knew enough to be aware of the fact that Kenny, my supposed father, always made mom cry. He always came back drunk and seldom went to bed without harassing us both. The hatred for my father had taken root then.
“I’m sorry Ricky, I really am” said mum as more tears zigzagged their way down her beautiful face. “I should have left him a long time ago but everything is going to be better now. I've made plans Ricky. Mummy’s okay now baby.” With that, she’d hugged me close and told me how much she loves me.
“You are my world, Jericho.” she'd said and in that moment as I felt her warmth and smelled her perfume I’d felt safe and all memory of Kenny had gotten pushed to the back of my mind.
***
After we left dad, mum and I went to live with my aunt Veronica who mom calls “the saint”. It’s weird, I know but that’s just what mums do. My aunt had advised mum to press charges against Kenny but she declined without even givingt it a second thought
Aunt Veronica just like my mum, is beautiful. She has sparkling blue eyes and rosy cheeks. Her full lips curve into this amazing smile that leaves you doing mental somersaults. I adore her for taking us in.
When we’d moved in with Aunt Veronica, my mum got a job as well as enrolled me in a new school. Everything about our lives changed. Mum had wanted us to start afresh, and find happiness and it was working. Kenny had tried to contact us but I’d rather run through a sea of cacti than have anything to do with that man. He’d made my life a living hell and I was glad my so called father was no longer a part of our lives. I knew I would never forgive him. He sends me cards and letters every year; for Christmas, my birthday, everything. I never open them though; just toss them in my desk drawer with a bunch of stuff I always say I’ll Throw away but never do. I don’t care about him.
***
The clattering of footsteps on the staircase brings me back to the present as my mum knocks twice on my bedroom door. “It’s open!” I yell, as I frantically begin removing the broken fragments of glass off the floor.
“What’s happening honey?” asks my mum as she walks into the room. Although I secretly love it, I complain about the honey thing and manage to mumble a good enough answer about accidentally knocking down the tumbler to make her relax. She starts to leave, but like all mums can’t resist the urge to ask,
“Are you done with your homework?”
I reassure her I’d get it done after dinner and tell her I need to rest. She seems satisfied and shuts the door behind her.
Just as I hear her receding footsteps down the hall, I hurriedly finish clearing up the mess of blood and glass I’d made, pick up my cell and attempt to distract myself. Unconsciously I trace the outline of the barely visible scar on my arm and will myself not to think of my father. Going down to dinner, I convince myself that Trish will contact me sooner or later.
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