Things Not Said

Chapter 11: Andrew

Andrew

Staring at my mother, I just can’t shake the fact that something looks wrong with her eyes: the green is too light, so bright it almost hurts my eyes. I see nothing of my mama in those eyes, none of the love I’d see in her eyes every morning when I woke up and every night before I went to bed.

Her hair, on the other hand, is perfect. The way it cuts at her chin and the fringe that she’d tuck behind her ear when she kissed my forehead. That’s how I remember her. I can’t see her any other way than when I’d last seen her as her healthy self. I can’t picture her after that. And it makes me happy.I don’t want to imagine her any other way.

I keep looking at the eyes, wondering how I’m supposed to get enough love onto canvas when a phone rings. Instinctively, I pick my cellphone up off my desk. It takes me a few seconds to realize it isn’t my phone ringing; it’s the house phone.

I jump out of my seat and run to the one in the entrance hall. I pick up quickly and put it to my ear.

“Hello?” I gasp.

“Hello,” the voice says, “Is this Andrew Carter?”

“Um, hello?” I repeat, unsure to whom I’m speaking to.

“We’ve found your father. He’s at the police station and was wondering if you could pick him up.”

 My mind takes some time to process the information before I can sputter, “Wait, jail? My dad’s in jail?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

“No, he didn’t make it there,” the voice grunts and I wonder whether the man on the other end of this line almost regrets he didn’t make it there.

“Wh—” I stop myself, almost speechless, “Why?” I ask finally.

“Got drunk and got into a fight. Witnesses say the other guy started it but your dad denies it. We’re letting him go. He’s still not in his right mind.”

I’m too stunned to let the words sink in.

“Hello?” the man asks.

I fumble with the phone.

“Alright, thank you,” I answer, not knowing if I’m saying the things he wants to hear. I catch a sigh on the other end of the line and realize I probably hadn’t.

“Will you pick him up?”

Pick him up? Why would I need to…suddenly, I realize what the police officer has been talking about this whole time. I feel myself emptied of strength, though I have enough to say the next sentence with plenty of roughness to let the policeman know, I don’t want anything to do with the man they have in custody.

“Let him rot there.” I say before slamming the phone down.

~~~

Back upstairs, I let myself drop onto my bed. I bounce lightly on the springs and look up at my lamp until my eyes cann’t take it anymore and I had to blink some sight back into them, making the black dots disappear.

My dad has been arrested for getting into a drunken fight. I still don’t know why it surprises me, but all I know is I hadn’t expected it. I thought he was better than this. That he cared about Allie and me enough not to get into trouble. A thought passes my mind: had he ever gone to jail when he was taking care of Allie?

I throw myself to my feet and go to close the light. Back onto my bed, I watch as the last of the glow fades away. My mind races to my mother, father, sister, and back and every time my father passes my mind, I don’t feel the hate I’d felt the other night. All I feel is sadness.