Facedown

I paused in the story to see Ronnie and Duke listening intently. They didn’t know much about what had happened and were probably even more curious than anyone else at this point. I looked into their eyes to see fear building inside of them and felt my heart swell at the thought of what I had to explain. I took a deep breath and plunged back into the story.

“The next few months were spent avoiding home at all costs. Sam made sure I had something to do and somewhere to go whenever Dad would go out, which was almost every night. Nobody questioned us, because well, the town didn’t get into domestic disputes. Plus they all just figured it was Sam and mine’s way of coping,” I explained.

“Some nights we got surprised and Dad would come in and try and slap us a few times. I only think Sam got hit two or three times ever, I wasn’t so cautious. I tried to hide it, even from Sam, because I hated to see him so angry. I mean sometimes he figured it out and was enraged. He would try to confront Dad but I pleaded with him not to. The times he did ignore me were the times he actually got hit. So not only did I have to hide this horrifying secret from the town, I had to keep secrets from the one person I trusted my whole life with,” I continued.

Ronnie and Duke came and sat on either side of me at this point and gestured for me to continue.

“A year and a half later, Dad had decreased his bar time to almost once every three weeks. He never brought up his destructive behavior and neither did we. It was almost as if he didn’t want to remember. My dad loved me, I know he did. I could see it in his eyes when he was sober. I loved my dad too, even after all the pain he caused me. I always just remembered what Sam told me at the lake that day, ‘...and her death will affect everyone. Dad's gonna be most upset, you know no one loved her more...Maybe so that we all would be impacted—for some reason, I really don't know Mal.’ That Dad was handling it harder than anyone else. Sam told me it wasn’t an excuse for hitting us, but I would always reply that maybe Dad was weaker than us, that he needed us to help him. But we didn’t because we never really got the chance.”

“There was one day when I saw my dad crying over mom; it was painful to watch. When he heard me outside the door he looked up and gestured me to come into the room. I walked cautiously in which put the most devastatingly depressed and guilty expression on his face. I flinched when he tried to touch my hand. A few more tears fell down his face as we sat there. He didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do. It’s like I didn’t know him anymore and even though I was fourteen by that point I wanted to, and I wanted him to know me. But things couldn’t be that way. Things could never be that way; even if he stopped. We would never have a good relationship again. It wouldn’t happen. So as we sat there and I watched tears trickle down his cheeks I felt overwhelmed. So I ran, like I always do when I feel so. And I didn’t go home that night; nor the next day. Sam was distraught when he found me a few hours after seeing dad. I told him I didn’t ‘want to go home and no dad didn’t hurt me again, scouts honor.’ So he let me stay out, but made me promise to check in because I wouldn’t let him stay out with me.”

“When I did finally come home, dad was a complete and utter mess. Sam had no pity. That was the difference between us—I always had pity for my dad and Sam...just didn’t. So when I saw my dad with his head in his hands I ran to him and hugged him tightly and cried. His arms carefully wrapped around me, like I was a porcelain doll. Sam stood in the corner, arms crossed, lips pursed, and a glare burning holes into my dad.”

“When I let go, he tenderly framed my face with his hands and wiped away the tears lightly. He kissed my forehead and then looked me in the eyes. He spoke so quietly that I almost couldn’t hear him. He said, ‘I’m so sorry baby girl, so very very sorry, I promise, I won’t do it again. I promise.’

“And I forgave and believed him.”