Please Don't Stop the Music

Point Of View: Jonathan Ross Bishop

As if moving to View Point wasn't enough, dad had to marry her first. Sheila was her name. Sheila Garcon and her perfect little princess. More like the two worst nightmares of my life. When dad first introduced us- if you could call me walking into the kitchen and finding her seated at the table with my dad's shirt on and him grunting out, "This is Sheila", as an introduction- she had seemed nice. Almost. There was that air of indecency that seemed to surround her. She looked like a snake. Acted like one too, as far as I was concerned. All the more reason to ditch her. Dad didn't think that joke was funny. Had the black eye to prove it. Oh well.

Lets see if I can get you to understand my situation a little better, yes? I’ve lived with my dad, alone since I was eleven. My mom died of cancer. I’m not really all that sure what kind she had, just that it was serious. Dad didn’t start the drinking right away. He was mourning pretty harshly. He’d loved my mom. It’d been obvious, and was still obvious, with how long he waited. Its been six years, and even I’m not over it yet. Anyway. So for the first six months, my dad was pretty much just a blubbering, weepy guy, who attached himself to me. I’d go days without getting out of the house because my dad couldn’t stand to be alone. That made me feel sorry for him. I don’t anymore. He took up drinking about there weeks into the seventh month of my mother being gone.

At first it was light. But then he started getting drunk on weekends, coming home late, and getting sick everywhere. I’d have to clean it up myself. He’d come drag me out of bed. Didn’t matter what time it was. The drinking got worse. Started happening during the day time instead of nights and weekends. And not long after that, the bruises started showing up. I just pushed it off, telling people that I’d just fallen. They believed me. For a while.

I think the first time I got really scared of my dad was the night when he nearly kicked my head in. Before that, it had been some slaps to the face, maybe a few punches on my body. But one night, he came home early. I hadn’t finished my homework yet, and I was watching TV- something I knew he hated. I wasn’t thinking about it. It was just an automatic thing. When he told me to stop, I ignored him. I realize now that this was a bad move on my part.

He got angrier. Eventually, he threw the remote at the TV so hard that the screen shattered, nearly catching the curtains on fire. At about this time, I was starting to realize he’d gone far beyond the limits of just being “upset”. He was now a raging bull. A scary, raging bull. When that beating was over, I was crying. I hadn’t cried about getting hit for a long time. All I knew was that my skull was on fire- there was such an immense, throbbing pain. And my entire body ached. The next couple of days were crazy. This was also the first time we moved. People were getting the idea that dad was neglecting me. And the welts and bruises that had started showing up were much less believable as cuts and scrapes from falling.

We were okay there for a while. A few minor disagreements here and there. But of course, the raging bull came back. There were two major fights this time before any moving had been done. I lived like this for the next three years. Jumping around from town to town, house to house- feeling broken and scared. I could never make friends in enough time. It was just as well. Would have made the goodbyes harder. Most of those places are just blurred faces and places all strung together on fishing line that could snap at any second.

The first time I felt like we had a permanent home- well the first time in two years- was when I was thirteen. We were living in some town in Mississippi. My dad hadn’t picked up a beer for two months. He’d done this several times before now- and it never lasted long. So I didn’t believe he would change this time either. He’d even stopped telling me that he promised to quit, because it was obvious that he couldn’t- or wouldn’t. I was never sure. Anyway. So here we were, living in this town in Mississippi. It lasted for two-and-a-half years. I lived there until I was fifteen. Between then and now- two more years to be exact- we’d moved around to twelve different houses. The drinking and beatings had started picking up once again. It got the worst around the anniversary of my mother’s death. Had she still been alive, I knew my life would be completely different.

So now, here I was, six months ago. This is where Sheila really comes in. First time I saw her, she was sitting at the table. She was the one to announce that she had a ring on her finger. I hadn’t even known that dad was seeing anybody- much less proposing to someone. With confusion written on my face, she’d told me between fake giggles, and flips of her bleached-blond hair, that she was going to be my new mother. Let me tell you, hearing that will certainly stop you cold and make your blood turn to ice. I wasn’t thinking. And my temper just snapped. I’d been keeping all those emotions under wraps for so long, that I was just tired of holding on.

And when I snapped- my dad snapped worse. I got the beating of a life time. Right there in front of Sheila. Step-mom. Worst nightmare. And then, along came the daughter to make three, four.

Brooklyn Rover seemed pretty normal at first. Nice, maybe even sweet. She seemed to not like the idea of our parents getting together either. Detested it worse than I did, turns out. She was pretty, a miniature copy of her mother- well almost. Her blond hair wasn’t fake. Neither was her tan. We became close for a little while. Until I figured out two things. One, was that my step-sister (our parents had tied the knot at this point) had a major crush on me. And two, she was a psycho. She’d been planning to kill my dad and her mom. And she had this whole weird plan where we were going to run off together.

Brooklyn stalked me almost everywhere I went. And it got to the point that my dad actually saw the sense in things and sent her away. That came as a relief to me. And a shock to her mother. Sheila wasn’t happy, but she had to agree that her daughter didn’t come off as…sane.

My seventeenth birthday was one of the worst. I got the news that we were moving again. Supposedly this would be the last time. I’d argued about it. That first day we showed up in View Point would be stamped on my brain forever. I’d been so out of it. I had a major headache, a busted lip, a black eye, and I knew that my ribs would have awful black bruises in the morning. People had stared as our car had made its way into town. Everyone was whispering about the new people and who they could possibly be.

View Point is small. And everyone knew about us by the end of the day. But they only knew the mask that my dad and Sheila put on. They thought we were a happy family who loved each other. Boy were they wrong. When we got to the new house, and settled, I was suddenly told that I had an aunt and a cousin. My mom’s twin sister and her nephew. A guy I hadn’t seen since I was five- and that memory definitely wasn’t clear enough. Here I’d had family and I hadn’t known it. I had thought I was completely alone. This brought on a new dislike for my dad.

I found myself on a porch suddenly, staring up into a face that looked almost exactly like my mother before all the chemo and radiation treatments. Long brown hair, warm green eyes, tan skin, and a bright, happy smile. I had to blink twice before I realized this wasn’t my mother, but my aunt. I was uncertain that I really belonged here. But her smiled widened. She didn’t even hesitate to pull me into a hug. And though I didn’t move to hug her back, she didn’t seem to mind. She held me at arms length, gazing into my blue eyes- my dad’s eyes, and her smile broadened. However, the look seemed to freeze on her face as she saw the bruises and other marks. She glanced at the house next door- my house. The new one at least. She shook her head. But then her cupid-bow shaped mouth opened.

“You must be Jonathan! I’m your aunt Lydia. Its so lovely to see you again. You’ve grown so tall. And so handsome.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know how to react. I guess I managed a small smile because she seemed to relax.

“I’ve got freshly made cookies.” I could smell them. “Help yourself.”

And with that, I was welcomed into my family’s arms. The family I hadn’t known existed. Life would be better from here on out. I could just feel it.