Just Another Lovesick Boy

I did not suppose I ever really thought about Jack after he left us. It was plain and simple to me that he chose his libido over his wife and child. He simply did not want us. There were plenty of reasons for him to stay. We loved him unconditionally, we gave him a home, we gave him food, and we gave him everything. But he chose sex and alcohol over love. He attempted to seduce my best friend's mother and he cheated on mine countless times but yet he was still shocked when she wanted him out. I would never forget the day that he left us. My mom rarely yelled but I heard her scream that day. I was six and I knew that I never wanted to see my parents like that ever again.

He was drunk. His favorite was Jack Daniels. His ode to being young since it was practically common knowledge that any idiotic teenager who likes to think themselves an adult likes to drink Smirnoff or Jack Daniels. He constantly filled our refrigerator with glass bottles of dear old Jack, which I never understood because he told me time and time again that Jack had no reason to be chilled. He always told me that one just needed to add ice cubes. So the fact he put the bottles in the fridge anyway baffled me. The first thing I remembered, right after his yelling, was the smell. He absolutely reeked of Jack. It was revolting. The smell filled my nostrils and I scrunched up my nose in disgust as I looked up at my mom at the dinner table. She closed her eyes, put her hand to her forehead, and shook her head.

"Adrian, baby, go upstairs to your room, please," she said softly.

I nodded as my put my fork down and scooted away from the table. I walked out of the dining room to the entrance hall to see my dad slumped on the floor. I licked my lips and was about to walk up the stairs when I heard him calling me.

"Hey, come here, boy," he slurred over his words.

I turned around slowly to see my dad in a way I had never seen him before. I always heard his voice and I always thought he was just talking funny. But it was then that I realized what alcohol truly did to a person. His eyes were red and the smell just radiated off him. He had a sloppy smile on his face and red lipstick marks adorned his neck and face. I stood on the third stair while he struggled to get up by placing his weight on his hands that he had on the wall.

"Hey. Didn't I say come here?"

"Mom told me to go upstairs to my room."

"No need to listen to your precious Mommy. Do you always do what Mommy tells you to?" he sneered. "She's a just a woman. No need to listen to her. Come here."

I was only six years old at the time but I was proud to say that I loved my mother way more than my father. I bit my lip in anger as my father talked about my mom that way. I knew that I was not supposed to talk back. My mother taught me manners and she told me to respect my elders, especially my parents and grandparents. She told me to never, ever talk back, no matter how much I wanted to. My fists clenched and I stared down to the ground. I could see my father get up before he swaggered over towards me. His hands gripped my face harshly and he shook my chin violently to make me look at him.

"You listen to me when I give you an order, boy." he whispered loudly in my face. The smell. All I could remember was the smell. I remember at that moment, I made myself a promise that I would never drink Jack Daniels. I told myself I would attempt to avoid alcohol all together, but if I could not, I would never drink dear old Jack. Past the smell, I remember the pressure on my face. I felt the tears in my eyes.

"Get your hands off my child," I heard my mother say from the dining room entrance way.

My father and I looked over at the same time to see my mom glaring at my father. Her arms were extended out so that her hands could grip both sides of the door way. I could tell by the way that her knuckles were milk white that she was restraining herself with all that she had. Her arms were shaking. Her eyes never left my father.

"Adrian. Go to your room. Now."

I had never seen my mother like that. I yanked myself away from my father's grip and ran up the stairs. I had my hand on the doorknob to my room when I bit my lip and looked back. It was still quiet when I looked back but I could not resist. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled back to the stairs. I sat on top step and gripped a wooden bar in each hand. I looked through the bars and down the stairs to see my parents.

"You come here to my house filthy and drunk and you still think you have the nerve to touch my child?" my mother asked slowly and dangerously.

"Your child? Last I checked, that little mama's boy was my brat," he chuckled.

"Adrian is not a brat, Jack. Why are you here?"

"This is my house."

"Not when you have all that shit covering your face and neck."

"What shit?"

"That whore's lipstick. That shit. What other shit would I be talking about, Jack? Bird shit? Horse shit? No, that whore's shit, Jack!" my mother's voice was raising with every word.

"How dare you talk to me that way!" he yelled.

"How dare you even come back here!"

"Now look here, you worthless bitch, this is my home and you are my wife. I own you and I can fuck whoever the hell I want."

"I can't believe those words are coming out of your disgusting mouth," my mom stood in disbelief.

"I can say whatever the hell I want. Now give me my dinner and then I want bath. And then you're going to give me the fuck I deserve."

"I'm not going to deal with this shit forever, Jack. I'm going to get tired of you and I'll be done with you."

"Don't make threats, you fucking cunt. You're just wasting your time."

"You're right. I'm wasting my time. You were a waste of my fucking time. That's thirteen of my years that I will never get back and that's thanks to a goddamn mistake like you, Jack. I want you out of my house. Never come back. I'm done with you! I want a fucking divorce."

I could see my father standing there in a daze, all his previous anger and arrogance gone from his face. He wore a shocked expression on his face, his shoulders were slumped over and his arms dangled at his sides. His mouth was wide open and his eyes were wide. My mother was standing there fuming with her arms crossed. It took someone who knew her facial expressions as well as I did to know that beneath her angered expression, her heart was breaking underneath all the screams.

"So that's it? You're just giving up on us?" my father asked.

"Yes, Jack. I can't take all this pain you're putting me through."

"Your pain?" he scoffed.

Yes, Jack, my pain. My husband, my love, gave up everything he had for a few worthless fucks. He went to random whores for sex, he made moves on his neighbor's wife, he made his son cry, and he called his wife a cunt and a worthless bitch. I'm done, Jack. Get out," my mother explained it all calmly.

"This is the biggest mistake of your life," he said he made his way towards the door.

"No, Jack," my mother said. He stopped in the doorway, with the door wide open. He did not bother to turn around and neither did she. I could see the tears finally make their way down her cheeks. "My biggest mistake was marrying you."

I had no idea what went through my father's mind or heart during that moment. I saw his back and shoulders tense up. I had no idea if it was from anger or heartbreak. All I remember was seeing his head slightly bow down before he straightened out and he slammed the door on his way out. I bit my lip as a tear fell down my right cheek. I could feel my nose getting clogged up and my face getting hot as I gripped the wooden bars harder. I looked down at my mother. She slowly backed up to the wall and slid down it to the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest and she let her arms fold over them. I could see the tears fall down her face. She let a single sniff when I stood up and put one hand on the wall.

"Mommy?" I spoke out.

She looked up at me in shock. Her bottom lip trembled lightly before she gestured me to come down. I ran down the stairs to throw my arms around her. She held me close and buried her face in my neck. I could feel her tears that missed my shirt run down my back. That was the first time I had ever seen my mom cry. She would not cry again for another seven years, when Eddy's mother passed away. The very next morning, my mother had placed all my father's belongings in trash bags and put them by the garbage bins in front. I never found out if my father came to take them or the garbage men took them away. But the thing I remember the most about my parent's divorce was the day it was finalized. My mom gathered every single picture that had my father in it, excluding family portraits, and went outside to the barbecue grill and burned them all. I stood there in the dark with her, the glow of the fire on our face. I held her hand as I watched a particular picture burn. It was my parents when they first met. She was smiling up at him and he had his arms around her. He was looking straight at the camera. That picture was the last to burn. His face was the last part to burn. I looked straight into his fake brown eyes as his smile faded and burned into nothing. My mother closed the lid and turned off the grill and walked inside. I had my hand still in hers while we walked together. I looked up at the neighboring house to see Mr. and Mrs. Devereux, with Eddy in their arms, looking right down at us. Eddy lifted his hand to wave but his dad grabbed his hand. Eddy gave him a hurt look before he looked down at me. I could not take the sight of their united family. I had to look away.

My father caused so much pain to my mother and me. He had no reason for what he did. And I hoped I would never see him again. I was so happy when I found out he had no custody rights or visitation rights whatsoever. I never wanted to see his pathetic face. I looked too much like him. I hated seeing my face because I would see him in mine. I terrified myself many times, thinking I would never be good enough for any girl because I would only hurt her. It was inevitable. I would hurt her because I was just like my father. It took my mother years to make me realize I was like him in appearance and not in personality. But all her words crashed down on me and I forgot every single one of them when I opened the door in the morning.

I could see the adult version of me standing on our porch. I could feel the hand that was gripping the front door shake. I stared at him with wide eyes and he stared at me with a wide smile. There was a redheaded woman under his arm and she gave me the same smile.

"Hey, boy. Come here and give your dear old dad a hug, eh?"

I slammed the door in his face before turning to run. I immediately tripped on the rug placed on the tiled floor. I scrambled to pick myself up and ran up the stairs.

"MOM!"