Tempest

The Fall

“Yes?” He asked folding his glasses and placing them on his open book. My fingers ran up and down my scar in a comforting fashion.

“I was just thinking about what happens after high school. I kind of wanted to find a good college for me.” I started nervously.

He pursed his lips, like he does when he thinks. He looked me up and down, as if I had somehow miraculously changed into something different before his very eyes. “College is fine, but I’m not going to be dragging you through the process. You have to do it yourself. I am not paying for a full ride either, while you just sit back and do nothing.”

I nodded trying not to let the rapture that swelled inside control me. “I already have an opportunity to go scout out some colleges with my friend, and I was wondering if you would let me go.” It was more of a question than a statement.

He stood up slowly, still looking at me as if I were some sort of stranger. “Where are you going to be ‘scouting’?” There was a small amount of sibilation behind the word scouting, but the triumph I already felt inside made me oblivious to the hiss. 

“Well, my friend had gotten some letters from a few schools out on the East Coast like The University of Chicago an-” 

“Who is this friend you keep talking about?” His voice was sharp and his eyes seemed to turn from questioning to punishing. Rain started to pound on the roof over head and lightning cast a blue glow in the room that was quickly followed by the percussion of the thunder.

“Um…” I shook, regretting every advance I had taken in respect to this stupid college trip. “His name is Damian. The kid you hire to-”

“The one who mows the lawn?” There was harsh humour in his voice that made me flinch. “He has letters from Yale?” It was almost comical to him.

I nodded slowly. It hurt the way my father degraded Fox, who was my friend, like that to my face. I felt myself begin to shut down to all emotional stimuli.

“Well, I don’t care where you go, but if I may,” He said sarcastically. “May I ask why you want to go the the East Coast?”

“I just wanted to see something other than this dead-end town.” I used Fox’ term, and I hope he didn’t mind, but it seemed to fit. 

My father stopped and looked at me like a stranger again. Something behind his eyes turned dark and numb. I suddenly felt like I understood the feeling that compelled my father. A feeling that canceled out all others in attempt to move on. “The earth expanding right hand and left hand, the picture alive, every part in its best light. The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted. The cheerful voice of the public road- the… the...” He seemed to be reciting something. He screwed up his face trying to remember the last line. 

“What?” I asked somewhat astonished that there was something hidden away behind the shell of my father. More lightning followed by it’s ever present companion, thunder, danced outside.

“Your mother. It’s by someone named Walt Whit-something. She would tell me that poem every time I asked her why.” His face grew hard and his voice was but a whisper that still managed to fill the room.

“Why what?” I inquired. The subject of my mother was something no one in this house ever brought up. I was raised knowing nothing about her and every curiosity was beaten out of me by the time I turned thirteen.

“Why she always wanted to go places; see things!” He snapped back at me, as if I were the one who brought it up. “If she would have listened to me… she wouldn’t have died.”

I thought about it for a second. No one has ever told me about how my mother died. My grandmother is, to some extent, unhinged and probably thinks her daughter is still on one of her many exotic trips. So, I never heard it from her. Zoey refused to talk about mom just as much as my father and Ally was in the same predicament as me. No one else came to mind that would have been able to tell me if I had even tried to find out. “Tell me how she died.” I requested in a voice barely above a whisper, as if I were afraid the whole world might hear me.

My father’s eyebrows knitted together and his fists clenched in anger. His mouth thinned as he took a few steps towards me as if about to charge. “Why would you care? You’re still going to try and run off with this boy and never come back! You think that it’s the colleges that dirtbag boy is after?”

“Hey! He is my friend and you are not going to talk about him like that! It’s not like you are any better man than he is!” Thunder mirrored my rage outside.

Then there was a silence. I couldn’t tell who was more startled about my rebellious outburst; him or me. My face was red and my fingernails bit into my palms as I took my defiant stance before him. His eyes flared for but a split second, then he let out a gruff laugh and put his hand on my rigid shoulder. 

“Abetha.” He said lightly with a sick smirk on his face. Then suddenly he ran his fist into my stomach. 

I let out a yelp and fell to my knees moaning over my fathers polished shoes. I heaved once or twice but nothing came up, thankfully. I started to get up, regretting it instantly as pain crippled me again. 

I screamed when my father took a fist full of my hair and dragged me out of his room. I kicked and clawed at him but he didn’t let go. I could hear my sisters below gathering at the bottom of the stairs has my father stood there looking down at them with me in a painful tow. Rain was beating tirelessly on the roof as if begging for my release.

Though my eyes that had gone blurry I could see Ally standing with her hands over her mouth holding back a cry and Zoey staring up with rage at our father. Zoey cursed to our father with voice shaken with anger, and then stormed out of the house. 

He held me up like a rag doll by my hair and bellowed into my face, “Go to your room!” And with that he shoved me down the stairs.  

I landed at Ally’s feet at the bottom. I had hit my head and a small stream of blood flowed into my eye. I couldn’t feel my left wrist and I doubted that I could count my bruises using even both my hands. Ally finally let out that withheld cry and fell to her knees over me. 

“Beth! Oh my god, Beth!” She cried. “Are you okay?” Ally didn’t know what to do, but her trembling hands hovered over me, not daring to touch, but not daring to sit there hopeless, either.

I groaned and rolled onto my back, but the movement was too much for my head and I blacked-out