Into My Own

Forty-Two

The first thing in my line of sight when I opened my eyes Sunday morning was the gorgeous cowboy hat I had been given ownership of. The expensive thing was leaning haphazardly against a stack of books on my nightstand where I'd plopped it the night before in my exhausted state.

I stared at it, unable to decide if I should actually wear it or not. On one hand, it was stunning; a piece of artwork really. On the other hand, cowboy hats weren't really my style, especially cowboy hats that were gifts from boys that gave me mixed feelings.

I sighed, got up, and dressed myself in a faded cutoff shirt and a pair of halfway clean jeans.

After much deliberation, I slapped my new cowboy hat over yesterday's braid. A glance in the mirror put a smile on my face.

It dropped the second I entered the kitchen to find my mother screaming her head off at Torrin. My usually tough brother was cowering in the corner, looking much like a scared puppy.

I stood in the doorway for a moment, debating what to do. As mom's shouts got louder and she drew closer and closer to Torrin, it seemed I only had one option.

"What's going on here?" I hollered, successfully stopping her approach.

Instead of harassing my brother more, the woman turned on me. Her face was bright red and she literally looked ready to strangle someone with her bare hands.

"None of your business!"

I returned her glare, hands on my hips but mouth silent.

From the corner of my eye I watched Torrin move gingerly out of his hiding spot and skirt around to stand next to me.

Mom's glare bounced between the two of us as she debated where to go with her rant.

"Where'd you get the stupid hat?"

"Kellan," I replied defiantly.

"Oh, so the guys you whore around with have started buying you things, huh?" She clumsily flicked the brim and it clattered to the ground.

It was only as she stepped away from me in disgust that I got a whiff of the alcohol on her breath.

Torrin pushed me protectively behind his back right as I reached up to touch my now bare head.

"Mom, I think you need to go."

"Go? Go? I'm in my own house! You can't tell me to go!"

If looks could kill, she would've dropped dead right then and there. Without a word, my brother picked up my hat, grabbed my upper arm and drug me out of the house. I stumbled behind him as we made our way to the shop.

He made a beeline for the pair of overall clad legs sticking out from underneath our grain truck.

At the sound of our footsteps, my dad rolled the creeper out from under and sat up.

It pained me to take in his haggard appearance. The bags under his eyes were just as prominent as my own and every wrinkle seemed to stand out on his pale, scruffy face.

He shot to his feet with one look at my tears and wrapped me in a hug, grease covered and all.

"Baby, what happened?"

Torrin spoke up. "Mom's at it again. She's drunk, called Coda a whore, went off on me for nothing..."

Dad's head dropped in a gesture of utter defeat.

"Dad, I thought she was done drinking?"

Torrin's question referred to the time she had been drunk and hit me when I was eight.

My brothers--too young to take on our mother--comforted me while I bawled, leaving our father to deal with his wife.

Dad had gotten mad--lividly mad--and told her that if she ever did anything like that again, he was kicking her out. She had stayed sober since, as far as I knew.

"I talked to her after you guys told me what really happened," dad began quietly. "Told her it was wrong to accuse you of anything like that, especially after she heard the truth. I said she needed to apologize and fix this. The way you two have been avoiding her tells me that she hasn't even tried."

My brother and I nodded hesitantly.

"Well, she hadn't been on the alcohol again since that night you three left. Last night I came home to find her on the couch with a half a bottle of whiskey. She went to hit me and yelled until she finally passed out. That really got me thinking. Anyhow, I told her this morning but she was still too drunk to have a conversation."

"Told her what?" My voice was small.

Dad blew out a labored breath and I knew what was coming.

"Told her we were over. Told her she has to move out." As dad's voice cracked, I could feel my heart doing the same thing.

It wasn't breaking because I would miss my mom. We had never gotten along well enough to be close. She had been moody and distant most of my childhood, very rarely showing any emotion other than anger or irritation.

No, my heart was breaking for my father. The man standing before me with his head bowed in shame, back hunched, was only a shell of the loving, fun dad I knew growing up. He loved both his children and his wife with every fiber in his being. Dad was not the kind of man who gave up easily.

The fact that he was the one calling it quits told me that my parents had been having problems for a much longer time than I knew.

"Daddy?"

He glanced up with those sorrowful eyes. "Yes, baby?"

"Did she...did she cheat on you?"

He released another long breath before giving me a simple nod.

It was then that I felt my heart split completely in two, the halves shattering into impossibly small pieces that could never be glued back together.

But instead of crying like the little eight year old girl who'd been smacked around by her drunken mother, I sucked in a breath and used it to stand tall. I wasn't that broken child anymore. I was a seventeen year old girl with a dad who needed me to be tough like he'd taught me.

So I pointed my chin defiantly, took my brand new hat from Torrin and clenched my jaw.

Because cowgirls don't cry.