Things Not Said

Chapter 9: Andrew

Andrew

My hand reaches to the chicken and bread that lay on the table between my father and I. I pile as much food as I can onto my plate knowing I won’t be coming back down once I head up to my room. I take a spoon and scoop a heap of coleslaw onto my plate.

I bring more food out of the D’Diner’s paper bag and find fries in a plastic container. While I’m pouring ketchup onto my plate, I hear my father cough. Looking up to him, I find him staring at me.

“Did you hear about Allie? About what happened?” he asks.

I nod hesitantly before going back to my food.

“They say a young boy called for the nurse. He probably helped her a great lot.”

I look up at him, willing him to get to the point of why he’s talking to me so that I can leave.

“She’s in intensive care for the night. They say she should be okay tomorrow and—”

“I know,” I cut him off. He looks down, and stuffs a forkful of coleslaw into his mouth. I watch him chew waiting for him to say what he has to say.

He swallows, looks at me and says: “Why haven’t you gone to see your sister? She asked why you haven’t come yet. She heard you were in town so you can’t keep ignoring her forever.”

I scoff and he looks at me, waiting for a serious answer.

“I couldn’t find the time,” I reply.

“Didn’t find the time?” Suddenly, Albert starts yelling. “I buy you a train ticket to come see your sister, all the way from California, and you can’t find the time to visit her?!”

Slamming down the spoon onto the plate of coleslaw I take a deep breath before yelling. I just suddenly can’t take it anymore.

“All you care about is the money you spend while your daughter might be dying in the hospital?” I shout, and scream and yell and pound my fists on the table making the plates jump.

“Well damn, doesn’t sound like you care much either!” my father howls in response.

Those words have done it. Any thought I’ve ever had about disliking my father are gone, dissipated as if they’ve never been there. For I don’t dislike my father: I hate him.

Throwing my plate across the room, I shout at the top of my lungs and punch the wall to my right. I feel the pain searing my knuckles and sense blood trickling down to the floor.

“Your daughter is dying!” I bellow before racing out of the house.

 ~~~

Ignoring the cold of the night, I push by anyone who comes between me and the place I’m headed. I turn past Mama’s Diner’s blinking sign and out onto the main street. I find myself on Washington Avenue. The place only adds to my desperation and the need to get away from the world, if only for a second.

I stomp through the people walking down the street, shouldering them away gruffly. Many complain and tell me to be careful but I couldn’t care less.

Finally, I enter at the department store at the corner of the street. I hurry into the warm interior and found myself at the back by the fridges where the temperature drops again. I look through the glass doors, looking for a drink that can take my mind off of everything.

I hate myself for doing this, but I need to find some way of forgetting what’s going on. Because right now, the last thing I want to do is think.