A Stranger's Soliloquy
A Stranger's Soliloquy
Dear Mr. ______,
You might be wondering why I’m referring to you as such, but the fact is I can no longer consider you a part of my family. Or my life, for that matter. It should be fairly clear who I am, unless you don’t even care enough to remember.
Remember how I would leap into your arms when you came home from work? How I would spend hours meticulously working on a Father’s Day present? I was a child who loved you unconditionally. Just like a good little girl should. A very blind little girl, for I hadn’t realized the true brutality of your nature. Mama always sheltered us, keeping us safe, taking blow after blow for my sisters and I. We had been terrified of you and hadn’t even realized it.
Looking back, I barely recall you being home. The time you didn’t spend at work you were usually out drinking with your mates. You were a very ambitious man, sir. Promising Mama you two were only going to stay in Hong Kong for a little while…well, years went on didn’t they? She had estranged herself from her own father because of you. Because you threatened him. Because you said you would take his daughter as far away as possible and never let her go back to Australia.
You certainly tried.
Mama would stay up late, tapping away on the keyboard with tears streaming down her cheeks. It was horrible to watch. I had never met my maternal grandfather, but I had realized from a young age any mention of him was taboo.
It had been in the fifth grade when the fights started.
It was time, Mama decided, to go back to Australia. We had been here long enough. You didn’t want to leave, shouting and hollering every time the subject was brought up. It was terrifying, the look on your face. My sisters and I hid in our rooms, and my schoolwork quality declined from the stress. And yet you wanted me to be perfect, anything less than ninety percent was not acceptable. To think I had been so proud of an eighty-eight, only to spend the rest of the evening crying in my room.
The arguing subsided for a little while, then rekindled the next year. I remember getting out my bowl of dried gum-nuts, a representation of Australia, and hiding some under your pillow. It was a childish attempt to make you remember. Didn’t do anything. By the seventh grade I was contemplating suicide.
Following this, some old family friends of Mama’s came for a visit. You were moody and irritable, not wanting to interact with them. I asked my sister, and she said you were jealous. Jealous ‘cause he thought we loved them more than him. That was why they were never mentioned around the house, and the subject quickly changed whenever they did come up. Oh, and believe me, I noticed. Want to know why? I’ve had a crush on their eldest son ever since the fifth grade. Like you care anyway.
When I went to my best friend’s home…I have to admit I was a little jealous. More surprised than anything though, at how a family could be so close to each other. Why couldn’t I have a father like that, I wondered, one who didn’t just love me out of familial obligation, but like me as well.
Things started to get worse at the end of Middle School, then terrible when I started freshman year. Counsellors hounded me at school, I couldn’t get even a moment’s peace from the situation at home. I was always late for class in the morning, not because I overslept, but because I would hide in my bedroom until you had left for work. By this time you were sleeping in the living room in front of the television, and I would have to sneak past you if I wanted to get to the kitchen. Naturally I lost a lot of weight. It wasn’t worth the risk.
By this time, I necessarily want you two to divorce – the dreaded D-word now came into play. I just wanted the fighting to stop.
My sisters started to see a psychologist, but I held on fine. You stole my laptop computer out of spite when I ran away. I just didn’t want to go on Easter Break with you, and because you wouldn’t accept no as an answer, I ran away. What else was I supposed to do? I would physically shake in your presence. Not with fear, but anger. I grew bitter. I hadn’t cared about what you did or said to me, it was how much you hurt Mama and my sisters. How could you do that to them?
I remember waking up in the middle of the night to a vicious banging sound. You had been trying to smash Mama’s door down when you came home from work, just to be vindictive. What I’m ashamed of is how I taught you to pick the lock, because I genuinely believed you needed to get your inhaler. Stupid, gullible, me. Didn’t matter anyway, because I saw you rip the metal doorhandle off with your bare hands.
My sisters were huddled together in one room, clinging to each other for support. The police were called and I had to get dragged out of my room for questioning at some godforsaken hour. Imagine how fun that must have been. Actually I’ve been thinking of joining the law enforcement when I’m older. Again, what do you care?
The custody battle raged on, and you spread lie after lie. I had to miss school and make two trips to the Social Welfare Department and be interviewed by some lady. You went on and on and on – full of bullshit. Under the table I clenched my fists, and I finally told her you were lying about everything. My mother isn’t abusive. That’s you.
But the thing that gets me is…when it came to court, you just gave up. Mama was fully prepared to fight for us, and you let us go so quickly. I was relieved, but…I know it’s selfish to say, but it also saddened me. It was like you didn’t want me. Like I wasn’t worth fighting for. You called me a “bloody cow”, a “stupid little bitch”…from someone I used to love, those words stung a lot.
You left us on the poverty line. We almost got evicted. You wouldn’t leave the house. We had to get a court order. Did I mention I know you screwed the maid? Then there was that whole drama with that girlfriend – I think her name began with an S? Whatever. Thanks heaps for messing up our lives.
I’m not expecting a response from you, nor is it for your sake. I only hope that you actually read this message, as all others we send seem to bounce back unopened from your PO box. You’re still there, just not answering. Are you ashamed? Do you think of us? Can you feel guilt for everything you did? By the way…did you ever actually end up going to jail for contempt of court?
In the end, I’m not sure why I’m telling this story. Because in all honesty, this is a letter to a complete stranger, right?
Sincerely,
Anonymous.
You might be wondering why I’m referring to you as such, but the fact is I can no longer consider you a part of my family. Or my life, for that matter. It should be fairly clear who I am, unless you don’t even care enough to remember.
Remember how I would leap into your arms when you came home from work? How I would spend hours meticulously working on a Father’s Day present? I was a child who loved you unconditionally. Just like a good little girl should. A very blind little girl, for I hadn’t realized the true brutality of your nature. Mama always sheltered us, keeping us safe, taking blow after blow for my sisters and I. We had been terrified of you and hadn’t even realized it.
Looking back, I barely recall you being home. The time you didn’t spend at work you were usually out drinking with your mates. You were a very ambitious man, sir. Promising Mama you two were only going to stay in Hong Kong for a little while…well, years went on didn’t they? She had estranged herself from her own father because of you. Because you threatened him. Because you said you would take his daughter as far away as possible and never let her go back to Australia.
You certainly tried.
Mama would stay up late, tapping away on the keyboard with tears streaming down her cheeks. It was horrible to watch. I had never met my maternal grandfather, but I had realized from a young age any mention of him was taboo.
It had been in the fifth grade when the fights started.
It was time, Mama decided, to go back to Australia. We had been here long enough. You didn’t want to leave, shouting and hollering every time the subject was brought up. It was terrifying, the look on your face. My sisters and I hid in our rooms, and my schoolwork quality declined from the stress. And yet you wanted me to be perfect, anything less than ninety percent was not acceptable. To think I had been so proud of an eighty-eight, only to spend the rest of the evening crying in my room.
The arguing subsided for a little while, then rekindled the next year. I remember getting out my bowl of dried gum-nuts, a representation of Australia, and hiding some under your pillow. It was a childish attempt to make you remember. Didn’t do anything. By the seventh grade I was contemplating suicide.
Following this, some old family friends of Mama’s came for a visit. You were moody and irritable, not wanting to interact with them. I asked my sister, and she said you were jealous. Jealous ‘cause he thought we loved them more than him. That was why they were never mentioned around the house, and the subject quickly changed whenever they did come up. Oh, and believe me, I noticed. Want to know why? I’ve had a crush on their eldest son ever since the fifth grade. Like you care anyway.
When I went to my best friend’s home…I have to admit I was a little jealous. More surprised than anything though, at how a family could be so close to each other. Why couldn’t I have a father like that, I wondered, one who didn’t just love me out of familial obligation, but like me as well.
Things started to get worse at the end of Middle School, then terrible when I started freshman year. Counsellors hounded me at school, I couldn’t get even a moment’s peace from the situation at home. I was always late for class in the morning, not because I overslept, but because I would hide in my bedroom until you had left for work. By this time you were sleeping in the living room in front of the television, and I would have to sneak past you if I wanted to get to the kitchen. Naturally I lost a lot of weight. It wasn’t worth the risk.
By this time, I necessarily want you two to divorce – the dreaded D-word now came into play. I just wanted the fighting to stop.
My sisters started to see a psychologist, but I held on fine. You stole my laptop computer out of spite when I ran away. I just didn’t want to go on Easter Break with you, and because you wouldn’t accept no as an answer, I ran away. What else was I supposed to do? I would physically shake in your presence. Not with fear, but anger. I grew bitter. I hadn’t cared about what you did or said to me, it was how much you hurt Mama and my sisters. How could you do that to them?
I remember waking up in the middle of the night to a vicious banging sound. You had been trying to smash Mama’s door down when you came home from work, just to be vindictive. What I’m ashamed of is how I taught you to pick the lock, because I genuinely believed you needed to get your inhaler. Stupid, gullible, me. Didn’t matter anyway, because I saw you rip the metal doorhandle off with your bare hands.
My sisters were huddled together in one room, clinging to each other for support. The police were called and I had to get dragged out of my room for questioning at some godforsaken hour. Imagine how fun that must have been. Actually I’ve been thinking of joining the law enforcement when I’m older. Again, what do you care?
The custody battle raged on, and you spread lie after lie. I had to miss school and make two trips to the Social Welfare Department and be interviewed by some lady. You went on and on and on – full of bullshit. Under the table I clenched my fists, and I finally told her you were lying about everything. My mother isn’t abusive. That’s you.
But the thing that gets me is…when it came to court, you just gave up. Mama was fully prepared to fight for us, and you let us go so quickly. I was relieved, but…I know it’s selfish to say, but it also saddened me. It was like you didn’t want me. Like I wasn’t worth fighting for. You called me a “bloody cow”, a “stupid little bitch”…from someone I used to love, those words stung a lot.
You left us on the poverty line. We almost got evicted. You wouldn’t leave the house. We had to get a court order. Did I mention I know you screwed the maid? Then there was that whole drama with that girlfriend – I think her name began with an S? Whatever. Thanks heaps for messing up our lives.
I’m not expecting a response from you, nor is it for your sake. I only hope that you actually read this message, as all others we send seem to bounce back unopened from your PO box. You’re still there, just not answering. Are you ashamed? Do you think of us? Can you feel guilt for everything you did? By the way…did you ever actually end up going to jail for contempt of court?
In the end, I’m not sure why I’m telling this story. Because in all honesty, this is a letter to a complete stranger, right?
Sincerely,
Anonymous.