At Merriemoore Square

0: That Time Mother Left

It was the season of summer, no classes, no homework, nor any other inconveniences a normal 16 year old should have in his summer break. But instead of pool parties and cold sundaes, I'm stuck here in the emergency room numb and limp as if my body just got off a marathon. My right arm casted and held by a sling, tough as a rock I can barely lift it with how I am at my current state. Papa really hit me hard with the bat, I couldn't tell it hit my arm until it bent more than it could ever. Their I stare while hopelessly lying in bed, at the spinning ceiling fan directly above me. I couldn't stop thinking about wanting that ceiling fan to just drop and behead me already. Those metal blades circulating the cool air around the room should theoretically be a convenient guillotine. With how cheap the healthcare here is, I wouldn't think that scenario is entirely impossible. 

"Hey kiddo how's your arm" A familiar deep voice called, tone in deep regret. "Fine... didn't know Bats were made of wood until now, thanks for teaching me, dad." Sarcastically calling him out. His regretful demeanor seemed to have shifted to one of annoyance, 3 seconds after a sarcastic remark, nice one father that's an all-time record. 

"You know I didn't mean to hit you, Abraham!" "Then who? Mother? It's either I get an injury or mom gets a concussion, and if the other thing did happen you could be filed for attempted murder." Mother has a compulsive act of cheating, it wasn't until I was 10 years old when I told father what mother has been bringing inside the house whenever he's not around. It took me 5 years till I was 10 years old to tell him, and I could've stayed silent until now but I knew I shouldn't, I couldn't. What do you think a child would do, when their mother's 'Acquaintance' had molested them, defiled them? And their mother wouldn't even believe them, of course I had to tell father. 

Still, why would I take a blow from father's rage, when mother, had promised and broken trusts over and over again. I know why father wanted to bat her like a softball, I imagine if mother's head were to be hit, it'd be considered a homerun. No matter how I want father to take revenge on all of mother's misses and shortcomings. He can't blame me for putting my arm in front of her, because for how long she's been cheating nor how many people she had slept with. Never did she have one more child other than me, as to my knowledge. I hoped mom was only doing it for money. We all tasted the blade of death, there were times all I could do was lay in the ground in hunger, I was practically bone thin if it weren't for mom's financial aid. Father didn't have a job in the middle of last year, and when he did get a job on October he was only getting minimum wages for the rest of that year. So it's been a struggle. I can't look father in the eye, because in a way I don't regret defending mother. He can't bear to stare at me too, like father like son. 

"I didn't want you to go to jail dad" 

"Is that it, is that the only reason you defended you're mother?" We both can't bare the tension we're piling up from each other. "Abraham, speak to me, is that the only reason why you almost disembodied your hand!?" 

"I didn't break my hand! You did!" 

The conversation lead to an argument all too fast, father now speaking with saliva dripping in every word. It's his' sign of real anger. I learned that, the first time I told him mom's been cheating. His eyes would dilate, mouth would foam like a dog. In broad daylight, I saw my dad turn to a full raging werewolf spitting his anger at mom, I could only watch that day. luckily dad never led to violence, mom did but she was always weaker, like me we had the same bone structure, probably strength too. But dad turning to violence with a baseball bat, it was so unlike him, a cognitive dissonance. 

"Was that your first time to really snap at mom?" 

I asked after the room calmed a bit down. Dad was now sitting at my bed, I hope he really does want to talk to me. "Yeah, all those time I was angry at your mom, I faked it for you" My eyes opened a little farther than normal "I know your mother would do anything for you, she was so desperate when you collapsed from hunger. I know your mother did it for money, and only that. It's the main reason how I kept my sanity for the years to come, until now." 

"Why?" 

Dad has never shown his face when he's sad nor depressed or even anxious. He's a type of dad that doesn't like showing weakness to his children. I guess you could say dad doesn't qualify to that anymore. He cried beads of tears, marking its way down his cheeks. I guess I know now where my ugly crying is from. "Last week when I went to get you prescriptions located in your mother's drawer, I saw a piece of paper folded inside her bible. It was divorce papers. When I talked to her about it, she wouldn't answer me or even give me just one-word of an answer, I couldn't control my rage the next thing I knew I was holding a weapon. Thinking of it now, that was immature of me, I couldn't control what was happening. And the second I snapped out of it, you we're lying in the ground with your mother calling an ambulance." 

Even if I was the one who got injured, understanding were dad came from, made me pity him more, he only wanted a normal family. I wish I knew why mother wanted a divorce. 

"Was I a bad father?" 

Honestly, I don't really feel any anger towards dad, I'd be grateful if he's still my dad in my next life, the chances for this one are just really unlucky. I couldn't answer, my body moved to the best of its limitations, I comforted father's anguished self. He embraced me to a hug still crying. And finally words came out my mouth as if it's aching to do so.

"You wouldn't have raised a forgiving son if you were."