It's Just Life

Testing The Limits Of A Friendship

"Dad?" Cold feeling had settled to my stomach, making me want to collapse to the ground and start crying. The earlier happiness was far gone and the joyful athmospere had changed into a shocked one. I could taste imaginery blood in my mouth.

"Sweety, where are you?"

"Dad..." I whispered. My knees were buckling so I kneeled down to the ground and held the phone with two hands. They were shaking and I was afraid that I'd drop it. I squeezed harder.

"The Child Services are wondering were you are. They visited me." His tone was steady and calm. I couldn't hear the usual playfulness in his voice. I felt sudden tears prickle in my eyes. What should I tell him? I opened my mouth and forced the words out, not really sure of what I was even forcing out.

"I ran dad. I went to a hotel. I couldn't do it. I'm so sorry, I just couldn't. I panicked, I didn't want to be there. I'm sorry." A tear managed to escape my eye. I angrily wiped it away before it had the time to fall off from my jaw. Stop crying.

"Sweety-"

"They'd sent me to an orphan house dad, you know that. They'd take yours and my money away, saying it's for our better good. Then I wouldn't be able to go to college. I'd have to move away from Sydney. Everything that I've builded up here would be useless!" My tone was frantic and the volume of my voice had unintentionally risen to an almost yell. My voice echoed in the cool night air, scaring a couple of birds which were eating scraps of an old hotdog next to the rubbish bin. I shut myself up as I heard him shuffling and someone mumbling on the backround. Dad answered something back and the phone made shifting noices. He probably had to stand up while calling. Suddenly I felt bad through the panic. I was complaining about my so called problems when he was the one in jail. The life which was completely ruined and stepped on was his, not mine. Even if he'd get out of jail in two months, he still wouldn't be able to get a normal job from anywhere anymore. Jail ruines your life, keeping the record clean is obligatory. That's what everyone knows.

"How are you dad? What's...what's going on? Is everything alright?"

He let out a shaky breath. I heard it cleary through the phone making another bang of guilt spread in me. More tears surfaced in my eyes and I couldn't help the pathetic sniff that got out of me.

"I've been better Sidney, I really have. The food is horrible and the bed is really bad, my back problems are starting to act up again," He laughed with a humorless tone and continued, "they tell me that the trial is in a month, here in New York. And that I may... I may go to jail up to 4 months." I drew in a hasty breath. That's a lot more than I had expected.

"Four months. Four months dad. Do I, do I come in there? In NY? To see the trial? Do you want me there?" This made another problem pop up. I wouldn't give mysef to the Child Services. No matter what. But I'd still have to go to the trial, where they'd be waiting for me. Waiting to take me away, maybe at this point even to a youth prison. I don't know what they do to runaways. I was pushed against a wall, I didn't know what to do. Either missing dad's trial or being thrown into an orphan house. Or youth prison. The thought of prison made my stomach turn. I wanted to throw up. I'm not sure was the urge for the fear of my own life or for the fear of dad's life. Either way I was scared to death. There was a long pause until dad spoke again, his words turning my insides out.

"You know what Sidney? I think you can miss it. Yeah, you don't have to come." His tone got a hint of heated rebellion in it.
"Go on Sidney, go on and live your life," Suddenly he was laughing. Scary, phsycopathic laugh, with a tone that sent shivers down my spine. "Your life is yours, not mine. It's only four months in jail, with good behaviour two, I'm gonna see you soon anyway. I don't need you in the trial. I can do it all by myself! Don't let them get you! Don't let them!" My mouth opened wide open painfully locking up my jaw. I put a hand to my eye, feeling the tears still rimming it. Did my father just tell me to keep on going as a runaway child? Did my father just tell me to go against the law?