Notes (Jenlisa)

Chapter 13

I was sitting on the couch making school work. I know it was ridiculous that I was making school work during my break. But I had a lot to catch up on. I missed a lot of classes this year and I could not afford to fail my SAT's next year because I was feeling rebellious. And also, I was bored. Jennie would be coming over in an hour or something. I actually needed to do something that would make time speed up, not go slower but whatever.  My father was home though. I didn't really freak out about it much. These days, he was trying to make some sort of contact with me. Like, he would actually ask me how my day was and stuff like that. He had also been drinking less and it looked like he was trying to clean up. But I didn't buy shit of it. He had the chance to be a real dad for about 5 years, why now? Probably, when he would notice that I found no need in talking to him or even looking him in the eye, he would leave. He would sigh, give up and go to wherever it was he went when he wouldn't come home for a day. Like he always did. At least, that is what I thought he would do. He sat down across from me instead and stared at me as I was trying to solve a math equation.

"What do you want?" I asked him after what seemed like forever. He sighed, like he always did lately.

"To talk to you." I clenched my jaw.

"I'm serious, Lisa." He said my name like he did when I was still smaller. Like he did when we would go camping in the backyard or when he would help me with my homework. He said my name like he did when we would attempt (but fail) to make dinner together, or like he said my name in the times that he would still sing with me. He said my name like he did when he cared. I felt my resistance crumbling slightly at the memories. But I kept working on my equation and ignored him.

"Lisa, please." I laughed bitterly and shook my head.

"You want to talk to me? Are you fucking kidding me?" I snapped.

"Lis-"

"No you wanted to talk. Let's talk. What do you want to talk about, Marco?" I said mockingly. "Do you want to talk about the fact that my childhood is fucking messed up? Or maybe the fact that after my life crumbled, you had to come and make it ten times worse?" He broke eye contact with me and stared at the ground knowing that I was right. I felt my anger boiling up. I gripped my pencil tightly as I continued speaking. "Or do you want to talk about the fact that you would get drunk out of your mind and just pass out in the living room. That your barely teenaged daughter had to carry you to your bed at 3 am. Tell me, what do you want to start with?"

"I-" he started.

"No, this is not about you! It has been about you for too long. We were both hurting, Marco. But instead of taking care of what you had left, you drank your pain away. You left me to fend for myself, you didn't give a shit about me. You neglected me. You only cared for yourself, that's the only thing you've ever cared about. You're so fucking selfish." My words came out harsh and fast. I didn't bother to put on any kind of filter. He came looking for my trouble so he could get it. I leant back and folded my arms, looking at him expectantly. His lip quivered and he buried his head in his hands. I rolled my eyes when I heard him sobbing.

"Are you kidding me? You're crying?" That was the moment that the part of me, that never turned eleven years old, broke. To that part of me, my hero, the greatest man in my life, was broken in front of me. A tear rolled down my cheek but I wiped it away. "What do you have to say for yourself?" I asked surprisingly calm. He kept on crying. With every sob I heard I broke. When I couldn't stand it anymore I stomped over to him and grabbed the collar of his shirt in my fists.

"What do you have to say for yourself, dad!" I said with all the anger I had in me. I couldn't take it anymore and started crying. Out of anger or out of sadness, I don't know. He looked up surprised at my calling him dad. His face was stained with tears and his eyes were red. I still had him in my grasp and it became tighter by the second. I had let my anger take over completely. I shook him and he started crying again.

"You are right!" He yelled, his voice hoarse through his sobs. I let go of him. His answer wasn't one I had expected. I used the sleeves of my jacket to dry my tears. "You are right, Lisa. I'm not worthy of being called a father. I have been useless and worthless to you, I know that! But you are my world, Lisa!" He shouted. I laughed bitterly once more. Before I got the chance to cuss him out he spoke up again.

"I didn't know what to do Lisa. I was selfish. You're right, I drank my pain away. I didn't care about anybody else but myself!" He was yelling twice as loud now. He stood up from his chair and faced me. "But I want to make that right now, Lisa. All of it. I know you must have forgotten how we used to be. How much you looked up to me. But I hope you haven't forgotten that I love you." He nearly whispered. I looked surprised at him at the three words. I didn't know whether to cry or push him as far as I could.

"Please, Lisa. Give me a chance to be the father I once was." He half asked. He had hope in his eyes. I saw my father in him. The man he used to be, that is.
He stepped closer and tried hugging me, that was when I snapped into reality and pushed him away.

"Get off of me!" I yelled. His face fell and all the hope he had faltered. I sat down again and grabbed my pencil. Maybe trying to act like this conversation never happened would make it hurt less.

"Lisa-"

"Stop saying it like that." I said, my voice laced with too many emotions.

"Your name?"

"Yes, my fucking name. Stop saying it like you actually give a fuck about me."

"I do."

"Save it." I spoke coldly. He clenched his fists and groaned. He reached into his back pocket, but since I was trying to ignore his existence, like he had mine for a while, I didn't see what he was reaching for.
He threw an envelope on my schoolwork and I looked up at him, confused as ever.

"It's from her, to you." He said, no emotion what so ever on his face. "Your mother. It's from her." I looked at the sealed envelope. My emotions were a mess in that moment. I was angry. No, I was fucking fuming. I was sad. I was confused. And somewhere deep inside of me, I was happy.

"I don't give a fuck, send it back." I said. Lie. Lie. Lie.
My father crouched down next to the table to make eye contact with me.

"We both know that you care, Lisa." He smiled weakly. "I do too. I still care. I never stopped caring about any of you. I've never stopped caring about you too." We held eye contact for a while. Neither of us were angry then. Just genuinely sad. I have been sad for a huge part of my fucked up life and the man in front of me had been one of the reasons for it. I wasn't about to start crying on his shoulder and become close with him again, just because he claimed that he cared about me. Which if he actually did, he had a very strange way of showing.

I broke the eye contact, pushed the letter away and went on with my school work. He sighed, obviously disappointed. In himself or in me or in the both of us. I don't know. I stood up, not able to take his moping anymore. After I shoved all my papers in my bag, I pushed past him.

"If you will excuse me, my girlfriend is coming over in an hour and my room is a mess." I tried to speak as calmly as I could. My fathers mouth fell open.

"Girlfriend?" He asked in surprise. I didn't know if he was shocked that I was in an relationship, or with the fact that it was a relationship with a girl. To be honest, I didn't care.

"Yes, my girlfriend." I put an emphasis on the word. "And if she gets here, I don't want you to bother her in any way, Marco. I swear to god-"

"I won't." He put his hands up in defence. "I'm serious." I narrowed my eyes at him and nodded slowly before heading to my room. I collapsed on my bed and sighed. Was he speaking the truth? Was he really trying to change? I didn't know what to believe. When I took my books out of my bag, the letter fell out. Great. Curiosity washed over me as I read the sealed envelope.

To Lisa
From Claire, your mom.

It said. The letter I was holding was filled with words from somebody who I had not spoken to in about 5 years. She had some explaining to do, that was for sure. Half of me didn't want to hear her out. She left me, without goodbye or anything. But the other half, was hoping that the letter would contain the answer to a question that I had been pondering about for years; Why?

I opened it anyway. I didn't do it for her. I did it for 10 year old me that was still hurting every day of my life.