Road Trip

Tuesday, May 6th, 2003 6:14pm

"...Happy birthday, to you!" Poppy grinned slightly when Gregor and Daniel stopped singing.

    She squeezed her eyes shut. I wish that I can leave this place as soon as I can. I wish that my father will stop beating me. I wish that... I wish that everything will be okay once I leave, Poppy thought intensely, opening her eyes to blow out the candles on her cake.

    The two boys clapped.

    "What did you wish for?" Gregor asked and Poppy rolled her eyes at him.

    "I can't tell you. That's not how wishes work," she told him and he sighed. "Besides," she added sadly, "I think it's pretty obvious anyways."

The sad silence that followed her statement was broken by Daniel. "I'll go get a knife so we can cut the cake," he said and Poppy flinched at the improbably violent words that came out of his mouth.

The smoke that billowed from where the candles were previously lit made Poppy retract into herself. It was only a few moments before he returned, but when Daniel came striding in with the knife, Poppy unconsciously put herself as far away from it as she could.

"Here we are," he said with a smile and sliced the knife through the cake so smoothly. Like it was butter. The way her father cut her skin.

    "Poppy?" Daniel asked when he noticed her backing away, her eyes wide.

His voice snapped her out of her trance. She looked up, glanced at the cake with the knife embedded inside it then back at his face. "Yes?" she whispered.

    "Did your father hurt you again?" he asked solemnly.

    When she stayed silent, Daniel dropped the knife, grabbed her arm and pulled the sleeve up to reveal fresh cuts along the backs of her forearms along with a few white lines indicating where old cuts used to be.

    A tear threatened to roll down her cheek and Poppy desperately tried to swallow it back up.

    "That's it, I'm calling the cops," Daniel said, completely discarding Poppy's birthday cake and marching to where the phone stood.

    "No! Don't!" Poppy shrieked and ran to stop him. The colour drained out of her face at a unnaturally rapid pace and those tears were now freely flowing out of her eyes.

When Poppy reached him, Daniel stopped and turned to her. "Poppy, this can't keep happening!" he snapped. "He's abusing you! I can't let him do that!" he yelled at her. He turned and reached for the phone.

    "Daniel, don't!" she cried, but instead of listening, he pressed the 9.

    She lunged tried to grab the phone from his hand. "Stop it! I'm fine! Don't call the cops!" she begged, her face wet with tears.

    He pressed the 1.

    Desperate, Poppy clawed at him, leaving red marks trailing down his arm and Daniel dropped the phone onto the floor.

    "What the hell Poppy?!" Gregor hissed for the first time and Poppy collapsed onto the floor, wrapping herself around the phone.

She looked up and the realization dawned her. What had she done?

    "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "You just can't- can't call the cops."

    Poppy's head was spinning and she quickly deleted the numbers on the phone. Her mother had tried to call the cops once before. He'd hit Poppy so hard that she had a bruise covering half her face. She was just a child. So Poppy's mother tried to call 911.

    "Luca! You can't do this anymore!" her mother demanded, protecting Poppy in her arms. "She's just a child!"

    "Shut up, Evie," he mumbled, taking a sip of his liquor.

    "No!" she spat. "I'm going to call the cops! I'm so done with all your bullshit!" she roared and ra over to the phone.

    "Evie!" he growled, "Shut the hell up," a clear warning in his voice.

    "I don't care what you do to me! she seethed and started to dial the number. "You deserve to rot behind bars!"

"Put the goddamn phone down, Evie!" he barked, standing up and the strength that Evie had mustered shook.

    "Or what, Luca?" she demanded. "You're gonna hit me? Cut me? I don't care! As long as you get justice, I don't care what happens to me!" she yelled, the sound of madness creeping into her voice.

    She finished dealing the number and hit call.

Poppy's father pulled out a gun and unleashed the security, pointing it directly at Evie's head. She froze, didn't dare move.

    It rang once.

Luca put a finger over his mouth, shushing her. Evie's heart beat a million miles a minute, staring right into the barrel of the gun.

    It rang twice... "911, what is your emergency?" the operator said, breaking the silence. Luca held out his hand for the phone.

    "Hello?" the operator asked, and slowly, Evie moved her hand and passed over the phone.

Not dropping the gun, Luca held the phone up to his ear. "Hello, I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, my 3 year old daughter thought it would be funny to call 911," he said into the receiver, sounding as polite and apologetic as any other angry father would be.

    After a moment there was a reply. "You do realize that that is punishable for up to 12 months in jail," the operator said, clearly annoyed.

    "Yes, I'm aware," he sighed and gave Evie a pointed look. "There will be consequences for my daughter and I assure you it won't happen again," he said, sounding surprisingly sincere.

    "Alright sir, have a good day," the operator said reluctantly.

    "Thank you," Luca said and hung up the phone.

    The gun was still pointed towards Evie's head and she was as quiet as could be, holding Poppy in her arms.

    A moment of silence passed, then he threw the phone against the wall, shattering it to tiny pieces.

    "Now what did you have to go and do that for?" Luca asked, wiping his brow.

Evie opened her mouth to apologize, to beg he didn't kill her, but before she could get a single sound out, he pulled the trigger.

    Evie fell to the floor, dropping Poppy. The three year old hit her head, but that wasn't the worst part.

    Her mother was dead. She was three, didn't fully understand it. The loud crying shrieks that only a child could create began emerging from her.

Poppy knew that something wasn't right. Her father had hit her mother before, but it had never been so loud. Her mother's head was bleeding and her eyes were wide open, everything unmoving.

Poppy could only cry and sit there, immobile as she watched as her father picked up her mother's dead body and went outside with it.

She stayed there and barely moved. It was hours before her father returned and it had gotten dark out. She was tired and hungry and miserable but when her father entered the house again, she went silent. Staring. He gathered a few belongings and went to Poppy, picked her up like she was a trash bag and went out the door.

    They never went back.

    "Please don't," Poppy mumbled as she closed her eyes, a splitting headache starting form

Gregor knelt down beside her. "Why?" he carefully asked.

She squeezed her eyes shut before she could look up at them.

"Because he'll kill you."