God, Do You Love Me?

God, do you hate me?

Travis:

Some days are better than others. Today is just...well, it's one of those days. I wipe the tears from my eyes and pull myself together before supper. I can't keep feeling sorry for myself. Not when he's around. I can already hear him say it. "You have everything perfect! I do everything for you, you ungrateful bastard."

Truth is, I am grateful. Just not for him. I'm grateful for my mother, who prays with me every night, and takes care of the cuts and bruises he leaves. I'm grateful for God, who keeps me strong. But not him. I'd rather starve without him, and be cold under no roof if only he weren't there. But mother says different. She says we need him. We can't live wothout him. I'd rather die, but mother would be alone.

I drop my expression, let myself feel numb, move my mind away from my body as I go downstairs. Mother serves food, I thank her. We join hands, my father's always too tight around mine, and we say grace. The food is bland, or maybe I just don't taste it, because I'm so far away. We eat in silence, then I rinse my plate and sneak back up to my room before any conversation engages.

When I return to my room, spotless and personalityless, I let myself feel again. Anxiety washes over me, then relief. I sit down on the floor next to my bed and I pray by myself.

"God, do you hate me? I do everything wrong, I've sinned more than anyone, haven't I? Im worthless. I would hate me. I want to love the life you've given me, but I can't. Is this your punishment to me? Please, just let me be happy. Just this once. I want to be saved."

The night passes quickly, without event. Another restless night, another dreadful morning. I get up and dress in a pair of jeans and a magenta jumper, trying to be as quick and quiet as I can, to avoid interaction with my father. It doesn't work.

"Aren't you going to eat, son?" He says, just before I go out the door. "I don't want the school to think I'm starving you."

"I'm not hungry." I tried.

"Sit down anyways. You'll be hungry later if you don't eat now."

I don't argue. Just sit down, and my mom fixes a bowl of oatmeal. Gross, but she says its the secret to a long life. "I noticed your grades are dropping significantly." I saw his eyes go dark, and tried not to wince. But today isn't one of his bad days. Not yet, anyway. "Are you having trouble in school?"

I answer honestly, carefully. "Math is becoming complicated, sir. I try, but I can't get all the answers right."

"You should try harder then. Focus boy. I can't have a r*tarded son."

My mother, bless her heart. "Kenneth, he's not stupid. Just ask your teachers for help, okay?" She says. "Go on, Travis, don't be late for school."

She's my savior. I grab my backpack and head to the place where I'm not afraid. Where I'm confident, where no one bothers me.