Project Equality

PPO

Lisa

I was raised by a single mom. My mom is definitely bad ass, no question, and she's one of the strongest people I've ever known. My dad left when I was four, and I never asked questions, because why? My mother was a great mom and dad. I didn't need to know why I was the only little girl in kindergarten without a dad.

Up until I was sixteen, which I was in January of 2017, I had never once asked my mother about my father. It was against a silent agreement that we had. He left, and it didn't matter why he left, because he left.

I was content with this. My life was good, I loved my mom and my tiny apartment, I loved everything about my life. Then, one day, I was home alone, when there came a knock at the door.

I opened it, slowly and confused, as stood before me a dark haired man with a curly beard and rank of whiskey. "Is this the O'Ryan home still?" His accent was faded Irish, and with sudden realization, I froze. I knew exactly what this meant. I knew exactly who he was.

I didn't have to ask my mother about my father to make certain conclusions from faded memories.

"Oh my god, Lisa, is that you?" He stepped closer and I stepped back.

"Who are you?" I asked, because I didn't want it to be the truth.

"I guess your mum never told you about me. I don't blame her. I was hoping we could talk someday, though- " And in my panic, I slammed the door in his face. I locked it, I shut the blinds, I grabbed my cat, and I hid in the bathroom.

I didn't have to ask my mother about my father to feel suddenly very unsafe about his reappearance in my life.

The first thing to do was, of course, to call my mom.

"Hey, sweetie, what's going on?"

"Mom . . ." I didn't know how to put it into words. My heart was pounding, the blood rushing through my ears was roaring loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I couldn't focus, couldn't breathe, nothing felt right.

"What's the matter?"

"It's Dad. I think he's outside our door." There was only silence on the other end. "Mom?"

"I'm coming home." She hung up, and I stayed there.

Shortly before my mother arrived, there were police sirens. I didn't bother to look outside to see why. Then, my mother walked in.

"It's time we talked about your dad." I didn't know what to say to her, because in sixteen years, I'd never felt the need to know. But after all that had happened, I couldn't deny that it was time.

"Mom, why did Dad leave?" The question I never cared to know the answer to.

"I told him to get his drunken ass out of my house," she replied gently.

"Why?" I didn't need to hear it to know.

"Because he hurt us. He hurt you, and I didn't want him to ever come near us again."

"Why were the police here?"

"Because we have had a personal protection order against him for the last twelve years," she whispered. "I wanted to make sure he could never hurt my baby girl again." She pulled me into her arms, but I was lost in a vague and distant memory. It was just vivid enough to hurt.

I remembered his face. He was shouting a lot and shaking his fists and he hurt my mom. I was so small that there was nothing I could do, maybe I hadn't even fully understood the severity of the situation. It wasn't one memory, though, so much as it was several occurring as one in my mind. It had always been the same.