Count The Stars

forty

        I hadn't talked to my dad in a week.

        He sort of just looked at me whenever we crossed paths at home. I was a bit used to it— it's not like he went out of his way to talk to me before— but now, his heated stares freaked me out, and if I had a panic attack in front of him, that really wouldn't help the issue.

        I tried to act like everything was normal the night after by sitting down for dinner at the table next to him. I shot him a tight lipped smile and he scowled back at me like a child who was angry he didn't get cookies for dinner. My mum tried to strike up a conversation about our day, but he replied with curt answers as he shoved meatloaf into his mouth. I left five minutes in, taking my plate up to my room and falling asleep with it burning on my stomach.

        I tried to get out of the house every chance I got, whether it was going to the pool or sleeping over at the Montgomery's, but one day, Adam was in Edinburgh and Blake was visiting his sister, leaving me stuck at home.

        "Why don't you come finish your dinner with us downstairs," my mum suggested through my double locked door as I picked apart a plate of pasta I didn't really want.

        "I'm alright," I replied, "I've got food here."

        "I'd really like to talk to you."

        "We both know full well that won't happen when dad's around."

        I could hear her faint sigh and the sound of her putting her forehead up against the door. "Please, Eli. The silence is killing me."

        "He never talks to me anyway. Why is this any different? Because this time he genuinely hates me?"

        I heard nothing on the other side of the door for a full minute until she finally spoke up, saying, "just come downstairs."

        Two minutes later, I was downstairs sat as far from my father as I possibly could be at our dining room table. The silence hadn't lessened; in fact, it got worse. My father and I stared back at each other with unblinking eyes, not touching our food. My poor mum was stuck in the middle, glancing back and forth between us.

        "How was school, Eli?"

        "Alright."

        "That's good. What about you, Andrew? How was work?"

        "Fine."

        "Brilliant. I'm so glad we had this talk."

        Silence. The quiet in our house had been building for days, slowly filling up every room like gas just waiting for someone to light a match. Nobody wanted to do it, though, because of the inevitable blast afterword.

        "How has school been since football season ended?" My mum asked.

        I shrugged, piercing a cold noodle with a fork. "Alright. I don't get shit on as much as I did, so that's a plus."

        From across the table, my dad scoffed and I perked up immediately, readier than ever to defend myself. "Yes, dad?"

        He took a full minute to think up his response before slapping a smirk on his wrinkly face and looking straight at me with his beady brown eyes. "Like I've said before, I think your being dramatic. First the anxiety, then the bullying, and now..."

        "Now what?" I challenged.

        "Well now... you think you're a queer," he said, his voice as honeyed and condescending as it could possibly be, leaving a terrible taste in my mouth.