Drama Queen - Jolyne Cujoh 🦋

Paranoia Slipping in, Checking all the Locks Again

Growing up was reasonably normal, I guess. My mum was a housewife; my dad was a marine scientist. He worked hard, maybe too hard; in fact, I rarely saw him during the week. He'd come home and go straight to his office, where he would stay until dinner. My mum cooked every meal we ever ate unless we went to a restaurant for my birthday or something. My dad never cooked or cleaned. It was my mum who gave me every bath, put me to bed and got me ready for school. She didn't mind though, we were comfortably wealthy, and I was her only child; our lives were pretty straightforward. My parents didn't exchange many words throughout the day, but I sometimes saw them of a night when I was supposed to be in bed. I'd watch them sit together in the living room above the stairs. It was always my mum that indicated the romantic interactions. Dad was withdrawn but never denied her. They never fought; they didn't have anything to fight about. They had money; they owned their home, dad was stable in his job, I was healthy, their sex life was good, my mum was fulfilled. It was almost perfect--I suppose.

But dad started leaving the country often when I was about seven. He was often in Japan; it was family issues at first, and then politics. It was drama, always drama. My mum understood, though, and dad would always give a straight answer as to why he had to leave. I remember one night over dinner; it was 1999, we were eating spaghetti.

"My grandfather died; I need to go to New York."

"I'm sorry, honey. I know you two were close."

"He's being buried in England, at a family plot. I'm going to attend the funeral. I also need to be with my mother during this time, so I'm going back to Japan for a while."

"How's your mom taking it?"

"She's devastated, as is my grandmother."

"Well, maybe you should take Jojo! I imagine your mother would be delighted to see her; it might make things easier."

Dad shook his head. "No," he took a sip of wine. "It's not a good time." It was never a good time. "My grandfather had an illegitimate son; nobody knew except the old man. The kid is sixteen and just inherited three hundred million USD."

"Oh my God,"

"Hm, so you can imagine this is causing some conflict back home."

At the time, I couldn't comprehend how wealthy my great-grandfather was. His adoptive godfather was an oil baron back in the 1900s; after he died, the man left his entire fortune to his godson, who more than doubled it after investing it into real estate. I'd never met my great-grandfather, but I'd seen many pictures. He was just like dad in a way, very tall, broad, muscular. Maybe that's where I'd gotten it from, my height and athleticism. I could outperform all my male peers in high school, and I'd never spent an hour at any gym.

Anyway, dad went to New York, then to England, then back to Japan. It ended up being almost a whole year away. My mom grew depressed; he didn't return any of her emails or calls after a while. He didn't even telegram. Once mom had exhausted any possible explanation for why he wasn't responding, she planned to go to the police to declare him missing. However, the day she planned to set out, a call came to the house.

"I'm not coming home."

It was the words that haunted me for years. I watched my parents fight for the first time down the phone. My mum was hysterical, screaming, crying. Dad was right; he didn't come home. He had some men with a moving van come to clean out his office, mom assaulted one of the movers, but he didn't press charges, thankfully. By 2001 they were divorced, and I never saw him again. Not when I was sick, not when I went to jail the first time, not when I went to jail the second time. We weren't close, I'd admit, but I missed him as though we were best friends. I hated him for the pain he inflicted on me and my mom.