Charade

Benji

The last time I saw my father was the night I ran away.

I remember it perfectly – the white-hot anger in his eyes, the throbbing vein in his temple, the burning red flush in his cheeks. But most of all, I remember what he yelled at me before I walked out, the last thing he ever said to me.

"Where have you been, Benji?" Dad asked, walking into the interrogation room.

"Around," I said vaguely, crossing my arms over my chest. "What are you doing here? Thought you never wanted to see me again."

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

Silence fell between us. I looked around the interrogation room, avoiding his heavy gaze. He seemed... sad. The haunted look in his eyes got to me. Was he trying to make me feel guilty?

"You didn't answer my question," I said. "Why are you here?"

"They called us in. Told us you were found trying to install an ATM skimmer and that you assaulted a police officer."

"Not the first time I've done that. Won't be the last."

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in, son?"

"Don't call me son," I hissed. "I haven't been your son in a long, long time."

Dad bit his lip, a look of pain in his eyes. Apparently, I hit a nerve.

"Do you know how much trouble you're in?" He asked again, voice a little quieter.

"My friend told me I'd go to jail. That they might treat me as an adult because of my age and record."

"It's an option, but I'm going to fight for community service."

"So now you're my lawyer?"

"That's what I do." He said.

"But why? Why do you care?"

"Ben, I haven't seen you in two years."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Just let me finish. Your mother and I... we haven't seen you in so long. We didn't know where you were, who you were with, if you were dead or alive. The days we spent searching for you, the nights your mother used to wake up screaming your name. It was hell."

"Don't sit there and tell me how hard it was without me. You didn't even care about me. It was always Joey this and Joey that. I was never good enough for you, no matter how hard I tried."

"We still loved you, Ben!"

"Not enough! You didn't love me enough. If you had, I wouldn't be here."

Dad's gaze sliced into me, tears welling in his eyes. I couldn't let myself think about what my parents felt while I was gone. I couldn't be manipulated back into a life I hated.

"I wish you were never born," I said. "Isn't that what you told me the last time I saw you?"

"Ben, you know I didn't mean it – "

"It doesn't matter what you meant. You said it. And no matter what good you do now, I will never forget that, and I will never forgive you or Mum. You think you were in hell? Try feeling like you're worthless. Like nobody could ever love you. Like you were stupid and hopeless because that's what people told you every day of your life. That's what my parents told me every day. So go home. I don't want your help."

I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, eyes left staring at the table. Slowly, Dad rose out of his chair and headed for the door.

"I know you don't want my help," he said, "but you need it."

"I would rather go to jail that owe you anything." I spat, eyes locked with his.

Dad's gaze fell and he closed his mouth. He knew that there was nothing to say, that what was broken couldn't be fixed. So he left the room wordlessly, and I was left by myself, trying not to cry.

© A.G. Travers 2015