Life After You

Chapter 9

I watch in silence as my mother pours probably half a cup of honey into her mug of tea.  When she finally finishes she speaks, "let's get one thing out of the way right now."

'Oh lawd, what did I do this time?'  I stare into her deep emerald eyes.

"Why have I not heard from you since you left home after Christmas?"

"Did Wil not tell you when I called?"

"He did, but that is an excellent point.  Why have you only called your brother since you left?  Your father and I are paying for you to get the Liberal Arts education you just had to have, and yet we never hear from you."

The way she says, "liberal arts" and "had to have" make me cringe.  'Maybe I only call Will because he's the only person in this fucking "family" I can stand.  Or maybe because I worry about him being in that fucking house with you two day in and day out.'   I manage to keep my moth shut and look down at the mug in my hands.

Her hand slams down on the table, and I jump, cowering further into my chair.  "Look at me Theodora, and answer my question," she hisses.

I just shrug my shoulders.

"Use your words!" She raises her voice, not quite to the point of yelling.

"I never have the time."

"You have the time to call Wilhelm, but not your parents?" the irritation in her voice only intensifies. 

"I'm sorry," I lie, "I plan to call yous after him, but we always seem to talk longer than I plan and I just run out of time."  'Was that convincing?'

She raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow, "I see."

I lower my head and take a sip of my tea.

"I came here tonight to see if you had grown any while you were here, but it is clear you have only gotten worse.  Your father and I have discussed it and you have two choices, either come back home and finish your schooling with the Marines or stay here and pay for it by yourself.  We are done fooling around with this charade.  We knew a liberal education was the wrong choice the moment you presented it to us, but we went along with it under the assumption that you might come to your senses.  Clearly we were wrong.   You have only managed to become more disrespectful and we are not having it anymore.  So choose."

My mind is spinning a million miles an hour.  I can't think, much less form sentences right now.  'They're cutting me off?!?!'

"Theodora Louise, are you listening to me?  This disrespectful behavior has gone on long enough.  Your father and I are not supporting it any longer.  So you need to decide right now, which is more important to you, this school or your family."

And just like that the clarity hits me, and 20 years of anger pours out of me.  "Family!?  What family!?  Families care about each other, and love each other!  Families don't abuse each other!  Parents that have families don't beat their children over every little mistake or hell, after every couple of drinks!  I don't know what family you're talking about because I never had a family with you people!  The Robbins were my family, the Isles were my family, but the Altmans?  The Altmans were the people that destroyed my life!"  

An ice cold hand hits hard against the left side of my face.  I can taste iron, and see stars.  "I guess you've made your decision then.  I will ship the remainder of your stuff, when I get back home.  You are to never contact any of us again, including Wilhelm.  And if you do there will be hell to pay.  Mark my words."  I hear her drop a key onto the table in front of me and the click-clack of her heels walk out of the apartment, but I can't see anything.  My face is in so much pain and my eyes are filled with tear making seeing and impossible task.

I hear the door slam, and all my control vanishes.

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I don't know how long laid on the dining room floor bawling.  I finally find the strength to pull myself off the floor and walk to the bathroom to check the damage.

I know my eye is swollen almost completely shut, and if I run my fingers over the side of my face I can feel a hand print.  When I look into the bathroom mirror, years of painful memories flood my mind.  I remember it all, from my first true beating at age 6 to the last one before college at age 17.  Hundreds of bruises, dozens of lacerations, so many cracked ribs.  I somehow made it through it all.  Few people ever knew, and if they suspected anything they never asked.  I had played so many sports in order to have cover stories.  Soccer, football, lacrosse, volleyball, you name it I played it at some point.

There is dried blood from my mouth to my chin, and the hand print is already turning purple.  I grab a wash cloth and run it under some warm water, before carefully cleaning my face.  I can't focus on the pain radiating from my cheek, because the only thought on my mind is,  'What's going to happen to Wil?'