Vanished

Parents

9 years earlier. Portland, OR.

As soon as the front door closed behind me and my brother in the small ranch-style house we shared with our parents, I knew something was wrong. Even though my mom smiled from where she sat curled up on the living room couch and tried to hide the fact that she'd been crying, it was blatantly obvious that she was upset about something.

"Hey mom," my brother said cautiously. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. I'm just fine."

We all knew that was a lie.

And then the reason for her red eyes came in the sound of a crash from the kitchen, followed by my dad's groggy voice. "Every fucking thing is a problem. How fucking hard is it to just be appreciative for once?" And then another crash, which sounded like a plate or a cup hitting the wall.

"Mom?" I asked quietly enough that my dad wouldn't hear. It wasn't even three in the afternoon and he was already drunk off his ass and blaming everyone but himself for our situation. Maybe we should be used to it by now.

"It's okay, honey." She forced another tired smile.

It was nowhere near okay.

I met my brother's eyes. He looked just as tired of this shit as I was. Without speaking, we headed down towards our rooms to the sound of yet another tirade from our father. We both knew that this would turn into a full-blown argument with him screaming and her slamming the doors. It would end with him in his study, alone with a bottle of vodka, and her crying in their bedroom.

Our dysfunctional family was exhausting.

My brother threw himself on his bed while I remained standing by the door. It had been over two years since we left Georgia. While our dad drank there too, it was never this bad until we got to Oregon. I'd wondered so many times why mom stayed with him?

Another plate hit the wall in the kitchen and was followed by our mother's shouts. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me in an attempt to tune it out.

"Here we go..." I sighed when something else crashed in the kitchen.

My brother just nodded his head.

"I can't take this anymore," I told him and took a seat on the chair by his desk. "I just fucking can't."

"Me neither. It's getting worse."

It was true. It was getting worse.

"So fucking ungrateful," our dad shouted loud enough that we heard it despite the closed door.

"Me? Ungrateful?" Mom responded with a snort, clearly more angry now than upset. "Who has stood by you through this shit fest, huh? You think having to change identities and moving every few years is so much to be fucking appreciative about?"

I closed my eyes and sighed. Mom swearing was never a good sign. He had pushed her to the breaking point.

"It will be worth it when I get the money," dad responded arrogantly.

"It's always about the fucking money," she shouted. "It's been years, George," she said, referring to our dad by his real name, "since we left Las Vegas. When are we getting this money?"

I rubbed my hands across my face. I could picture the scene like it was happening in front of me. Her eyes blazing as she taunted him with her pointed finger, hinting at what a loser she thought he'd become, and him drunk off his ass with spittle flying from his mouth as he shouted at her. It was always the same argument. Just different versions of it.

"I know we've bullshitted about getting out of here several times," I told my brother, "but we're both adults now. If we truly wanted to leave, who'd stop us?"

His dark eyes lit up. "For real? You think we should consider it for real?"

"Yeah."

He shuffled up on the bed so his back was against the headboard. "Dad would probably throw a fit."

I nodded. Probably like the one that took place in the kitchen. But only because he'd feel disrespected.

"You're right. He can try to stop us, but why would he? For what reason?" I was way past the notion that our dad actually wanted us living with him. He was bitter and resentful. Most of the time he was either in his study alone, or drunk, yelling at mom.

"Probably would be easier to hide if it's two instead of four," my brother commented.

"Exactly!" I felt excitement for the first time in a very long time. Maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel. "Dad won't argue with that logic."

"Plus then maybe he can go search for that money he always talks about."

"Yeah." I rolled my eyes. "Whatever imaginary cash that is."

My brother chuckled.

"What if we talk to Lloyd," I suggested, referring to our family's case manager, "to see if we can transfer to another college?"

I had two years left and my brother had three. Our grades were good. Not spectacular but good enough that we'd be able to transfer over to another decent four year college.

"Why not? It can't hurt to ask and anything will be better than living in this hellhole."

"That's the truth."

"And it's not me and you they are after, so maybe it would be better for us to be away from dad. Maybe we'd actually have some more freedom."

"Yeah..." He nodded slowly as he thought it over.

"We'll have to work while we go to school, and we might not be able to take full credits," I warned him knowing that if we left, we'd no longer have our dad's financial support.

"I know," my brother said and just then another crash came from the kitchen, followed by my dad's yelling.

I sucked in a breath.

"It will be worth it. Anything else will be better than this."

"I agree."