A Starting Point

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT- BEYOND THE ROAD

Davies

The other day, after meeting Wallace, I decided to go out and see my old house which was next door to the Mitchell house.
I walked around the fence and stopped on the sidewalk. The for sale sign was still there. Six years later and nobody wanted that house. Everyone who lived there, when they found out what had happened, simply felt bad and moved out. They thought it was haunted. Maybe it was, since I had my demons there.
I looked at the front door and imagined my mother opening it and saying "Come Davies, lunch is ready".
My hands started to shake.
“How long will I have this?”
I sat in front of the door, folded my legs and buried my face in them. I so wanted to cry. Damn tears that wouldn't come.
That's when a familiar noise caught my attention. The bastard's old truck, which was even older, stopped and I could see him looking at me, then he went on his way, turning onto the pasture road.
The bastard had the nerve to show up, after years and having problems with the law.
I got up, walked into Eva's kitchen and grabbed a knife, tucking it into the back of my pants and covering it with my T-shirt. I went out into the street and started running.
The asphalt ended and a dirt road began. There, it was a large rural area. The pasture was tall and yellowed due to the time of year.
I knew where he was going. Calvin once remarked to my mother that Wilson always went there after arguments.
I stopped running and kept walking. It was on "autopilot". After several minutes, I spotted the blue truck, parked in the road.
On the other side of the fence, I saw him sitting, leaning against a tree. His old shotgun was across his legs and in his hand was a half-empty bottle of whiskey.
I went under the fence and stopped a few meters from him. I knew it was a risk since he was armed, but I couldn't bring myself to walk away. I had to try. I had to kill him.
His attitudes killed me every day.
He looked at me for a while and then took a big swig of whiskey. He got up, shotgun in hand, and walked, limping as usual. He went to his right, with his back to me and looked into the distance, as if appreciating the horizon.
“I loved your mother.” I felt hatred for her words and a sense of disgust washed over me. - I love you too. All this time, I've been a monster to you. And I can't change what I've done. “You don't know what it is to love, you wretch!”
I had one hand behind me, gripping the handle of the knife.
The deplorable man who was in front of me spat on the ground and started to walk some more. The clumsy steps showed his drunkenness. I noticed his white hat and brown boots. Physically, he looked like a man, yet I didn't see any humanity in him. I stopped seeing a long time ago.
I walked some more, stopping when he stopped.
“My father used to beat me too. He hit a lot! Sometimes I wondered why he didn't love me and he said that's how a whore's son should be treated. He always threw it in my face that I would be a failure. It wasn't my fault my mother cheated on him. Damn! I was his son! — he was silent for a few seconds and continued —: After she left, he started hitting me. I resent him for a long time. I still do. And I know we'll see each other one day, in hell.” My father coughed and spat again.
“Deplorable” was a compliment, close to her true state.
“So I grew up and went on to live my life. I left the house without looking back. There wasn't a day that I didn't feel the pain of the wounds in my body, in my soul. So, I drank... I drank so I wouldn't remember his face and I drank so I wouldn't remember that I was the son of that damn bastard. I stopped drinking when I met Angelini. And I loved her so much more when she gave me you. We were a family.
“Which you destroyed!”
He looked around to see if I was paying attention to what he was saying.
“After the leg problem, you know, I lost my job and that's where we were. I swallowed my pride and went to my father to borrow some money. I thought that the years had changed that worm, but I was wrong. I've heard the worst things a son could hear from a father. He cursed me in every way and hit me. And even though I was a grown man, I still couldn't raise my hand to him. I left there and went into the first bar I saw. And then... I hated you for falling off that roof. I blamed you. I hated your mother for giving you to me.
“Stop hurting me, you bastard!”
“Why did you go up on that fucking roof, Davies? I lost my fucking job and had to humiliate myself for that son of a bitch. Why did you go up on the fucking roof? he repeated, his voice raised now.
I heard Wilson crying like a child. I took a few more steps and, while his back was turned, I drew the knife.
His crying subsided and he started talking again.
"You were never at fault, were you?" You are as innocent as your mother. The hatred I have for my father does not justify what I did. Sometimes I wanted to know what he felt when he hit me. And when I hit you, I knew... It was the feeling that you have something to vent all your anger on. Whoever gets hit is a target. Oh yes. We took aim and hit,” she said in a low voice.
"Sick!"
“After my drinking wore off, I'd sit here and feel like crap, like my dad. And I even tried not to drink anymore, so I wouldn't do the same things, but I couldn't. It's a damn addiction.” He took a deep breath. — I am ashamed to pronounce your name. I'm ashamed of myself. I'm a monster and I don't blame you for how you feel about me. But I want you to know that this will hurt you someday.
I heard every word he said and I didn't have the strength to answer.
“Hatred destroys the good in us. I'm not saying to love myself one day, just don't hate me. I hold my father's heartache and hate and look what I've become. I became the trash he is. Don't be like me or him, Davies. My grandfather also beat my father, even after he was a grown man and married to my mother. Do you realize this is like a fucking curse? Damn Lewis! We are all miserable. Less you. I always knew you were different. So don't let what's in your heart consume you. I promise I'll disappear from your life, but don't be like me son. Promise me!
I closed my eyes for a few seconds and when I opened them, Wilson was looking at me. The tired face and sad eyes. I looked at him for a few seconds, when I finally gathered strength and replied:
- Son? I do not have father. And I wish you had died and not her. You killed us all. Why don't you die, Wilson? I said in a shaky voice.
He let a few tears fall and went back to his back. I took the knife and went towards him. I was determined.
- I wanted to die. I really want it and if I could, I would have chosen not to be born. During those six years, I tried to live and I couldn't.
I stopped my steps and that feeling was there. The same as when I thought I was going to cry, but the crying didn't come. I started to breathe a little panting, as if I were short of breath and that tremor in my hands came.
I dropped the knife to the floor.
Wilson turned and looked down at the knife.
I could not. I felt like a coward. Oh, God... I just wanted to run.
I turned and walked towards the fence. Before stepping onto the road, he called out to me. I stopped, but I didn't look back.
"I love you, Davies!"
I lifted my hands, covering my ears and sucked in air. I needed to get out of there. He had no idea how many times I wanted to hear those words. But now, they just turned my stomach.
I went through the fence and walked back the way I did. After a while, I didn't see him anymore, just his truck on the road. I took a few more steps and that's when I heard it. I knew what had happened. I heard the shot.
And when I managed to open my mouth, I screamed. My God, I screamed as loud as I could. No tears. I just scream. And that day, there was no sun. Not even a ray of sunlight. Perhaps he was far away... far beyond the road.