I Will Not Kiss You

Dad called while Mikey and I were eating breakfast. Mom picked up the phone. She said he wanted to talk to me and I said I didn’t want to. She repeated my message. It wasn’t long before they were shouting at each other. I ducked my head down and shamefully spooned more cereal into my mouth. Mikey slowly reached out and patted my arm.

“It’s not your fault.” He insisted.

“It is.” I replied.

“No,” He said quietly “They’d be fighting anyway, even if you weren’t here.”

“They probably wouldn’t even be divorced if it wasn’t for me.”

“Frankie…I know it’s hard to understand but every kid feels like that when their parents split. It was probably nothing to do with you.”

“They used to fight all the time; usually after I’d done something. Like, once Mom got new curtains and I screamed because I didn’t like it so they had a fight later when I was in bed. And another time, I wouldn’t eat my dinner because Dad wouldn’t let me watch him cook it and he smacked me so I threw the dinner plate at him and kicked his leg really hard. It really hurt his leg and he told me I’m a bad person. They had a fight about that too and I was just sitting in the corner, crying.”

“But you can’t help it.”

“But it was still my fault-“

“It’s not my problem that you’ve got a new girlfriend with kids! You know what he’s like with kids! This is your mess, you clean it up!”

I looked back at Mikey, trying to block out Mom’s shouting. He made a funny face, looking at her sideways with his eyebrows crossed.

“Can we go up to my room?” I asked.

“Yeah sure.” He replied.

So we put our cereal bowls in the sink and went up into my bedroom. I sat cross-legged on my bed and Mikey sat next to me with his legs dangling over the edge. No one said anything. The silence was very uncomfortable. I twiddled my fingers for something to do. Mikey swung his legs contently, looking around. I wondered what he was thinking about.

“It’s not your fault, Frankie.” He said.

“Yes it is.”

“No it’s not. You can’t help being the way you are and just because they used to fight over you, it doesn’t mean that you’re the reason they split.”

“No offence, Mikey, but you don’t know anything about it.” I said, saying it quietly to show I didn’t mean to sound rude.

“Eat the damn food!” Dad shouted, making me cower away from him in my chair.

I shook my head and tried to get down from my chair but he pushed it back in under the table so that the table was pushing into my stomach. He stood over me like a giant, with his arms folded. I whimpered and pushed my plate away. He pulled it back in front of me.

“Honey, he doesn’t want to eat it,” Mom said “If he doesn’t want it, he doesn’t want to eat it.”

“Well tough! He’s eating it. I’m not raising a spoilt kid!” Dad yelled angrily “One more word about your dinner and you’ll regret it!” He shouted at me.

My bottom lip trembled as he said it. I was really frightened. Dad was shouting too loud and I couldn’t get away. He waited for about a minute.

“Well eat it.” He roared.

I shook my head. He grabbed my arm, making it hurt, and slapped the bare skin several times in the same place without pausing in between. I screamed as soon as he touched me so I was being really loud when he started hitting me. I pushed my chair back, got out of my seat, grabbed my dinner plate and hurled it at him with all my eight year old strength. It hit his chest and my plate of baked beans, waffles and sausages stained his crisp white shirt. He raised his hand again so I kicked his shin hard and ran away, burying my face in Mom’s lap because I used to touch other people back then.

“You little…” Dad cursed.

“That. Is. Enough!” Mom shouted.

“C’mere!” Dad yelled, grabbing my shirt collar and trying to drag me away.

I screamed at him, trying to get away.

“Let him go!” Mom screamed, standing up.

She grabbed Dad’s hand and pulled his hand off of me. I bolted away and curled up in the corner, crying my eyes out as my parents shouted and screamed at each other.