If All Else Fails

If It's A Secret You Keep

~Calum~

When I was young, I suffered in the hands of an abusive father whose only priority was to climb the corporate ladder. I remember celebrating most of my birthdays with the only person who came to care for me all my life and that was my mother Susan. Although we had always been left to fend for ourselves, it wasn't always easy. Dad's absence would surpass the amount of time he spent with us and even then, it was as if he wasn't there. On the nights that they thought I'd be sound asleep, I'd hide under my bed hearing them banter and curse each other out and it made me cry. Every night I cried when dad was there, every night I cried when he wasn't. I'd wake up the next morning and I would find mom slumped on the sink silently crying and when she'd turn to notice me, she'd wipe away her tears along with a bruise on her cheek or her eye. She'd still smile at me, she'd still encourage me to be good in school and make sure I was doing right by her. I'd nod and say nothing else because at the age of eight, I knew well enough that I needed to start thinking about what I want to be when I grow up and what I was going to do about it. My mother's smile kept me through most of my years and it inspired me to do what was right. When I turned eleven, my father became an alcoholic. He still kept up with his abusive nature but as long as I was at home, he couldn't hurt my mother as much as he hurt me. And that was fine because I wanted my mother to be safe.

On my thirteenth birthday, my mother took me out to dinner to this fancy restaurant. My father had been gone for almost a week on a business trip to Chicago and normally, for any child celebrating their birthday without their father, they would have been sad and sulky. But I wasn't, we weren't. My mother and I were happy to be alone. We were happy that it was just the two of us. After finishing our dinner, she excused herself to go to the comfort room and left me alone at the table. There were still a few people dining but I did notice one particular family of three in a private booth just a few tables behind us. The man got down on one knee but the woman didn't seemed to be surprised. I could tell she uttered a few words and it made the man stand up. She didn't seem to have shown any remorse and just left the room. The man just stood there and I noticed a girl, probably just my age comfort her father. She ran after her mother but she already left and got on a speeding car. I couldn't stand to watch her cry alone and on the streets, so I got up and followed her. I reached out to her and handed her a handkerchief. She just stared at me with nonstop tears rolling down her cheeks and said nothing. I was about to leave when she grabbed my arm and managed to utter a few words.

"Can I borrow it?" She blinked and sniffled.

I looked at her and smiled lightly. "Of course. Here you go. I'm sorry."

She wiped her tears away before she replied. "Sorry? For what?"

"For what happened. Your dad, your mom."

"Oh no, it's okay. I saw it coming anyway. I just didn't expect her to be this heartless, you know?"

I just let out a sigh. I didn't know what to say. What do I know? I have an abusive father and a mother who loves all things right and wrong. I think I'd be the last person to tell her that everything was going to be fine. I was barely getting by, my family was as dysfunctional.

Before I could say anything else, both our parents came out the door and much to my surprise, they were talking. My mother patting her father on the shoulders and saying things I couldn't make out. They knew each other? I looked at the girl and she was as shocked as I was. She looked back at me with questioning eyes and a raised eyebrow as if to ask me what was going on. I just shrugged because as close as I was to my mother, I didn't know she had friends. She was always at home and there weren't any photos to evidently say that she had a circle of people who she kept close relations with. They both looked like they had known each other for quite some time judging from the fact that my mother was comfortable enough to lay a hand on this man's shoulder in contrast as to how she was in public with or without my dad. I had always known her to be a shy woman. And the girl's father seemed to be on the same level of comfort although his face was obviously distraught and as my mother kept talking to him, he didn't say much but shrugged, nodded or shook his head. The girl ran towards her father hugging him and crying some more. I walked towards mom and tugged her hand lightly, in turn she introduced me to this man and his name was Peter. He stooped down and looked me in the eye.