Manic

Chapter 29.

I remember the last time I saw you like it was yesterday. I remember your screams, I remember the smell of your breath. I remember the punches as they landed on my small body, your rough hands wrapped around my throat. I remember every second of it. It's like it is permanently branded in my mind and my memory, a tattoo on my mind, etched in permanent ink.

Countless times in my life, I have imagined what it would be like when I saw you again. Where we would be, what I would say, what I would do. I have played the scenario over in my mind so many times, it almost feels like a memory, even though it never happened.

Never in my life did I imagine I would see you like this. In New York. After running away from my boyfriend's house and begging for a ride to the airport.

I can't form a single word. My body feels like jelly. Your voice echoes in my mind, "I love you,". The alcohol on your breath comes to my nose, as if it was that night nine years ago all over again.

But it can't be. You were still in prison. Right?

No. It has to be. Here you were, sitting beside me in a red minivan, in Ithaca, New York. Of all the places in the world that you could be right now, you were sitting beside me in the car, giving me a ride to the airport.

And you had no idea who I was.

"Alright, don't tell me," You laugh. "My name's Charles, friends call me Chuck. You can call me whatever you'd like."

I continue to stare. You glance over at me, "Where you headed to?" You ask.

"Arizona." I finally managed to get a word out.

"Arizona," You say, as if recalling a memory. "I used to live there. What part are you from?"

"Mesa," I answer.

You look at me, "No way! I got a family there."

I stare at you. Do you really not recognize your own son?

"I know." I say.

You look at me again, as if realizing for the first time... Then you blink. Long and hard, as if trying to forget something like a memory. "Alright, who are you?"

I'm your son! I want to scream. I want to grab your shoulders and shake you around and tell you, Yes it's me, you piece of shit. It's the son you almost killed nine years ago!

But instead, the words that leave my mouth are, "Rivers Thomas."

You nod your head, "Ah," You say. You continue to look at the road, the car is moving slowly down the dirt path, I wonder if we are ever going to get to the airport.

The rest of the drive you try to make small talk. Occasionally I will answer with a nod or a few words, but for the most part, I was in complete and utter shock.

After nine years, here you are. After nine years of wishing you were dead, you are sitting beside me in a car. After nine years of imagining what I would say to you when I saw you, all I can do is sit in almost complete silence. Because part of me is trying to say this isn't really you. This is your twin brother, a kinder, sober man who picks up kids and gives them rides to the airport. But the other part of me knows. It's really you.

After what feels like ages, we reach the airport. "Well, here we are." you say. "Say, you got any cash on you?"

I shake my head reluctantly. I hadn't planned this far ahead. I suppose I could beg for a ticket, but where would that get me? Do I really want to leave? Yes, I decide. I need to go home. After seeing you for the first time in nine years there is no way I would possibly be able to enjoy the rest of this trip. And after what happened at Rivers' house... no, I can't stay. I can't even face Rivers, much less myself.

"Here, let me help you out." You reach into your pocket and pull out a leather wallet. "Two... Three hundred should get you to Phoenix." You say and place the wad of cash in my hands.

I allow myself to rip my gaze away from the hundreds in my palm and look you in the eyes. "Thank you," I say in a hoarse whisper.

"No problem, kid. Hey, be safe, okay?" You tell me as I get out of the car. I only nod my head before closing the door behind me.

Be safe? I repeat your words over and over in my mind. Is it possible that you've changed since prison? Is it possible that you're a better man now? Is it possible I could have a father that I've always dreamed of having?

I shake my head.

No, it's not possible. Because regardless of if you changed or not, I will always hear you screaming at me in the middle of the night. I will always feel your rough, calloused hands wrapped around my neck, squeezing the life from my body. I will always remember. And no amount of good deeds will ever change that.