From Far Away

He waits until late, two days later, to text her. Nearly two in the morning, in fact. He doesn’t know why it’s taken him this long to work up the nerve, or why he doesn’t wait until morning. Something takes control of his thoughts, makes him choose then and there to open up his phone and find her number.

“Are you awake?”

He waits. The sky outside is stained orange, the product of California smog and streetlights. The phone lies on his stomach as he reclines on his bed, covers off, waiting (in vain, he thinks) for an answer. After a few minutes, the screen lights up.

“Yes.”

*****************************
In truth, she’s been awake for way too long. She’s just gotten home from her mother’s house, exhausted, her head pounding from the screaming, dragging and reasoning. All she wants is to crawl into bed and sleep for a day.

Her father is home. Again. This is the fifth time he’s shown up after months of having disappeared, likely on benders with liquor and plenty of women to spare. He’d stumbled through the door and fallen flat on his face, Ashley’s mom had said. The smell of him had made Ash gag once she’d gotten there. He was facedown, completely gone to any sort of reason or comprehension. She’d sighed at the sight of him, knowing she could do nothing else- he would never change. At least this time he’d just passed out instead of nearly killing her mother another time.

Still… this isn’t the end of it. He’ll awake tomorrow, pour himself another brew. He’ll feed his furious hangover, shouting at his wife the entire time. The well-worn vein in his right temple will swell like a worm, squirming and throbbing with every second longer it must satiate its body’s anger. It’ll tunnel itself deeper into the fine layer of skin on Marco’s head, turning it darker, deeper, until it bursts. Until he slumps over, blood filling his face. Dead.

At least, that is how the fantasy ends for Ashley as she collapses onto her bed facefirst, then abruptly flips herself over, realizing how much she just resembled her father. She wants nothing from him; she doesn’t want his looks, his attitude, his actions. He can keep them far away from her, thanks very much. It’s bad enough he’s tainted all of her memories with his alcoholic poison. Bad enough he’s sent her mother to the hospital more times than Ashley can count, and still Emily goes back to him, still she leaves him only to say, “It’s been long enough- maybe he’s changed.”

Assholes like Marco Muniz never change. Ever.

Her phone has a text message from the guy she met at the precinct, the one she still can’t believe is real.

“Are you awake?”

In a manner of speaking, yes, but Ashley doesn’t say that right away. She doesn’t know this man from a hole in the wall, and yet there she was, giving him her number as though he’d done something to deserve it. Though… maybe he had.

She takes a minute, then sends back, “Yes.”

“I can’t sleep either.”

“Well, I can. Just got home.”

“Out partying?? ;)”

She takes a moment. “No. I was taking care of my drunk-ass dad.”

Silence on his end for a bit. Then, “Oh… want me to leave you alone?”

She stares at the screen, watches the words blur in front of her eyes. Is she that tired? That frustrated? That unwilling to speak to him?

Deliberately, she types, “No,” and sends it.

*****************************
Later on, Bobby is drifting off to sleep after their two-hour-long phone conversation. His mind is in a slow replay mode, going over every word, every breath Ashley spoke or took, the enormity of her story- which isn’t like his own… but brings back echoes. It involves a father more involved with liquor than quality time, a mother who was a bit too willing to forgive, law enforcement officials either too eager or not eager enough to do their jobs.

She was in the hospital for a week. Stitches everywhere, a punctured lung… and he said she lost her balance and had a bad spill from the top of a flight of stairs. Yeah, some fucking spill- was he down there at the bottom with his fists cocked?... He lied about so much, Bobby. About hitting me, about hitting her, about drinking, everything. He made decent money as a construction worker- not that we ever saw a penny of it. Always having things shut off on us, getting kicked out by three landlords before he finally bought their house off a drinking buddy. We would have been homeless otherwise.

One time he came after her with a tire iron. I was twelve. I jumped right in front of him as he brought it down. Next thing I knew, I was in the hospital half-delirious, him bent over me sobbing all over and telling me he’d never do it again, he hurt me, his baby, his angel. I still have the scar from the surgery… it’s on the left side of my neck down into my shoulder. He was supposed to go to jail for that- I actually ended up in my grandmother’s custody for a little while, after getting out of the hospital. But he did his service and sobered up for ten minutes and there I was, back in that hellhole. I cried the whole way home from Abuelita’s. I still remember.

And in the middle of it all- as there always seems to be- Ashley, only not alone as Bobby was. No, she had a younger brother, all of six years old, to look after.

It’s Alex I’m worried the most for, of us two. He’s a baby. He doesn’t know any better- he doesn’t know what it’s like to have normal parents. I can at least remember when Dad didn’t drink half as much, and he didn’t fuck around and he would stay home and play with me, or watch TV, or something. I can remember when he looked at Mom and didn’t want to kill her. Much the opposite. But all Alex knows is the violence... I don’t want him involved in that.

“I wouldn’t want him there, either.”

No…

“I… I don’t know what to say, Ashley, honestly. I mean… we’ve just met each other.”

I’m not asking you to say anything. And I don’t tell just anyone this story. I just figured I could trust you… since you know what it’s like to be in that predicament.

“I don’t know, though. My dad went crazy on my mom once while he was drunk. Next thing I knew, he was in Canada, my mom and I were going to meet him. We hopped around a bit, and suddenly I was Bobby Ryan. And that was it. I don’t pretend to hide it or anything… I guess it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.”

And your dad?

“He’s… he’s got enough regrets. He learned his lesson, I guess.”

Ha. I wish he were my dad.

“I don’t.”

Why?

“Because then I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you the way I did.”

*****************************
He smiles at the way he made her falter, at a loss for words. It’s only been a couple of days, yet he likes her. He likes her enough to have asked her out again, to a cookout his buddy and teammate Ryan is throwing. Something in her voice had hesitated before she said “Yes,” but Bobby had been too excited to care. Despite all of the trouble this could possibly cause, and despite everything she’s been through and is going through… this could be a step in the right direction.

Maybe.