Gone (Ianthony)

One Month, One Week, Three Days, and Four Hours Before

Anthony:     

I was too scared to drive home.

Scared of myself. Scared that the anger and emptiness collecting inside me would take over my thoughts and force me off the road to burn to a crisp in a terrible accident.

So I would probably end up spending another night. Which was great in a sense, because it gave me time to sit alone and clear my head and try to sort out what the hell happened earlier, but also was bad, because it was just one more wasted day in the Ian Search. But I couldn't possibly drive in my condition. I wasn't that stupid.

I had drank a lot, too. Well, I mean, not nearly as much as my dad; he was drunk halfway through our little "reuinion." I just had one glass of champagne there, but after getting back to the hotel, I was incredibly grateful for the full bottle of booze they'd left in the mini fridge. I couldn't have possibly made it through the evening sober.

I laid on the hotel bed, trying to focus on CSI: Miami on TV, finally sobering up, but it was unexplainably difficult. My mind kept flashing back to what my dad had said earlier, and then I just wanted to scream and cry and drive my car off the road and drink a hell of a lot more booze.

My phone started vibrating on the end table next to me. I ignored it at first, but after it rang again, I took a deep breath and read my mom's name on the screen, guessing she probably just wanted to know how the reunion went. At first, I decided there was no way talking about it would help, especially to her, but then realized venting to the only person who knew how much of a dick he was might reduce the desire for booze.

So I answered it.

"Hi, mom."

"Anthony." 

She sobbed. She was crying.

I sat up.

"Mom, what happened? Are you okay?!"

"He just called me."

I bit my lip.

"Dad?"

I heard her sniffle. I wondered if my step-dad was home. 

"I don't know how he got the number. He just called and... he told me what happened."

"Mom, I-"

"But I don't believe it. I know he would twist the story around to make you seem like the bad guy."

I squinted my eyes shut.

"What'd he tell you?" My voice was ridiculously weak.

She took a deep breath.

"He... he said he was just trying to keep things calm, to... re-connect, and... you wouldn't listen, and wouldn't let him apologize, and... I don't know, but he... he told me he missed both of us so much and he said he knew he would never be able to gain my trust back, which is true, but, Anthony, he told me he really wanted you in his life. And... I could tell he meant it."

"I don't care."

"Anthony, you know my feelings about that man, but he is your father, and he deserves-"

"You don't understand, mom! I was trying to stay calm. I was trying to listen and forgive him. But he was drunk. He was trying to blame you for the divorce, saying that he tried to be a part of my life, but you wouldn't let him, and I know that's not true, so I told him to go fuck himself and left."

The other line was silent.

"Mom?"

Nothing.

"Mom, that's not true."

Nada.

"Mom, please don't tell me that's true."

Zip.

"Mom."    

"...I'm sorry."

Now I really needed more booze.

"What the hell, mom?! You always told me he didn't wanna see me! You told me he never called! You told me he didn't even care about me! How much of that was true?!"

She sobbed again. I was too mad to care.

"I-I'm sorry. I just... I couldn't let him get to you. He's a bad man, and... I'm sorry. Please realize I did it for your own good."

I hung up.

I felt like my whole childhood was a lie. Growing up, I was the only kid in class who had a dad who didn't love him. The whole time, he did. He cared. He tried. My mom lied. It was all a lie.

I was crying again.

It was nights like these where I would go to Ian, and I would sob and cry on his shoulder and he would comfort me without even knowing what was wrong. And then I would tell him, and he would rub my back and listen and nod, and after he would always tell me what to do and that he was there for me and always would be. He lied too. He wasn't here now.

And I needed him now more than ever. Because as I lied on the crappy hotel bed, sobbing and trying to figure out what I did to make God hate me so much, I wished I would have savored his advice so much more. Because on nights like these, I needed it. I needed him. I needed anyone.   

I got my phone out again.

I called him.

It was something I'd done a lot lately, even though it always just went straight to voicemail. Sometimes I called him multiple times in a row just to hear his robot voice on the other end, but most of the time, I left him messages I was sure he would never hear. I just needed to talk to him. Even if he wasn't listening.

"Hi, Ian. I really need you. I'm in San Diego, in some crappy hotel with a really uncomfortable bed and a really small TV. I... I talked to my dad today. I have to go back tomorrow. We just fought the whole time. He never told me your clue. But... my mom just called me. It was all a lie, Ian. She's lied to me since the divorce. My dad wanted to see me. He wanted to help me with my homework and watch movies with me and just be a dad. But my mom didn't want him to, so she lied and told me he never even cared. I don't know what to do, Ian. I have no one to trust anymore. My own mother betrayed me, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust my dad again. You're the only person I can trust, and you're... you're God knows where. Please. I'm begging you. If you happen to hear this tonight and you're anywhere near San Diego, please, please come to the Holiday Inn on Beverly. Please. I don't care if you come for an hour and disappear again by morning. I just... I need you. I love you so much, Ian. I just need to see you again, and soon. I can't go much longer. I'm so lost without you. I miss you so much. I'll be listening for a knock on room 302."

That knock never came.