Anthem
Chapter 3
As I'm walking home I start to think about how I'm going to keep food on the table for myself for the next month. There's only a week before I can sign up for the military at seventeen, but that's not a guarantee at immediate entry and meals. I decide that I'll need to prepare for at least a month to be safe.
Vending newspapers? No one will hire someone my age.
Advertising? Possibly.
Selling my body? Out of the question. As I get closer to home my ideas become more and more outrageous.
Maybe I can convince my father to get a job? Yeah, sure. I'm jolted out of my train of thought as two low flying helicopters pass above. Odd, they usually aren't this far inland. I went up the stairs and into the hallway, stopping at apartment 122. I struggled finding my keys in the dingy hall lighting. I found them and unlocked the door. My hungover, but sober father sat on the couch. He looked up from his phone. "You're late." he grunts. "I'm starving."
"Work kept me late." I reply pulling off my coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. I busy myself pulling out dishes for dinner.
I switch on the radio we keep on one of the cluttered tables in the kitchen. I expect to hear similar things to what I heard at work, like usual. But this time I can hear a more discernible trace of alarm in the female reporters voice.
"Yes, you heard it here. There has been a massive attack in Leon City believed to have been organized by the rebels. The death toll is estimated to be between two and four-hundred though the amount of wounded is expected to be much higher." Says a female voice.
I stop what I'm doing, grasping what she's saying. There's suppressed voices coming from the background, it must be a live broadcast.
"We are just getting word in that the government has made drafting changes due to what is now being called an act of terrorism." the reporter says. My heart skips a beat.
"The drafting statute has been lowered to sixteen years of age within the country, and financial assistance will be offered immediately to those who join voluntarily. Truly astounding! Back to you, Dan with more information on this newsworthy event-" the broadcast turns to static.
I stand there, mouth agape. I am unable to believe what I just heard. I can join immediately, with benefits. I let out an astonished laugh. My father looks up from his phone, flipping the cover shut.
"You know I nearly cut my foot open on that god damned glass you left around my bed?" He says, an aggressive tone seeping into his voice.
"Then clean it up yourself" I say back. I want to hear more on the broadcast. I try fiddling with the dial to regain the newscast.
Wrong thing to say.
He's across the room before I even have time to shout. His hand is around my throat and I'm pushed against the wall. I push on his hand but for a drinker he's strong.
"You listen to me! Don't you EVER speak to me like that!" he yells, flexing his fingers. I let out a gurgled whimper.
"Do you hear me? You're gonna respect me like a daughter's supposed to respect her father. You're whore of a mother never learned that lesson, and where did it get her? She tried to leave me and I threw her out myself!" He roars. He releases his grip on my neck and goes around to yell in my face instead. I shrink back, intimidated by his screams. But I'm sick of his abuse. I'm sick of how he treats me, of how he treated my mom when she was still alive. And for the first time ever, I fight back. I grab a kitchen knife from the drawer in case a tries anything.
"No. You listen to me." I command. My voice doesn't waver as much as usual.
"I'm joining the army first thing tomorrow morning, and you have no right to stop me. You know why I was really home late? I got fired from work." I see some color go out of his face. He knows what that means.
"No more benefits for you. No more cheap cigarettes, no more booze, and no more food." I say. I immediately feel horrible for saying it though.
"Jill-" he says shakily.
"You can't leave me here-" I cut him off
"You're a grown man! YOU should be the one taking care of this family! Not me!" I stab the knife into the wooden counter.
"I'm getting my things. I'm leaving." I say with finality. I go into my room, congratulating myself on being brave and surprised that my father hadn't put up as much of a fight. I close the door and sigh, looking at the bottles he had left from a few night ago. I put his garbage in an old cardboard box in the corner and assemble my few belongings in a canvas backpack in another corner. I am positive that I will not be coming back here. My hand pauses over a large chunk of dusty glass. I blow on it lightly to reveal fading letters written in permanent marker. P A R I . I realize its a remainder of a piggy bank I had kept as a child, saving for a family trip to Paris. It seems like such a stupid idea now. The night my mother had left was the night he had broken it, using the few dollars of quarters to buy something... I rack my mind trying to remember what it was...
I hear clunking noises coming from my door.
"Dad?"
No response. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings earlier..." I say tentatively. I grab the first heavy thing to my right, a broken lamp, in case he's still pissed off and open the door.
But it doesn't open. I try again thinking the knob must be jammed. And again. But no change.
"Oh shit." I breathe, my eyes growing wide. "Shit, no, no!" I gasp. The only thing that could be keeping the door shut is the bike chain from the kitchen table. And there's no way I can break through that. My father is making sure I never leave.
Vending newspapers? No one will hire someone my age.
Advertising? Possibly.
Selling my body? Out of the question. As I get closer to home my ideas become more and more outrageous.
Maybe I can convince my father to get a job? Yeah, sure. I'm jolted out of my train of thought as two low flying helicopters pass above. Odd, they usually aren't this far inland. I went up the stairs and into the hallway, stopping at apartment 122. I struggled finding my keys in the dingy hall lighting. I found them and unlocked the door. My hungover, but sober father sat on the couch. He looked up from his phone. "You're late." he grunts. "I'm starving."
"Work kept me late." I reply pulling off my coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. I busy myself pulling out dishes for dinner.
I switch on the radio we keep on one of the cluttered tables in the kitchen. I expect to hear similar things to what I heard at work, like usual. But this time I can hear a more discernible trace of alarm in the female reporters voice.
"Yes, you heard it here. There has been a massive attack in Leon City believed to have been organized by the rebels. The death toll is estimated to be between two and four-hundred though the amount of wounded is expected to be much higher." Says a female voice.
I stop what I'm doing, grasping what she's saying. There's suppressed voices coming from the background, it must be a live broadcast.
"We are just getting word in that the government has made drafting changes due to what is now being called an act of terrorism." the reporter says. My heart skips a beat.
"The drafting statute has been lowered to sixteen years of age within the country, and financial assistance will be offered immediately to those who join voluntarily. Truly astounding! Back to you, Dan with more information on this newsworthy event-" the broadcast turns to static.
I stand there, mouth agape. I am unable to believe what I just heard. I can join immediately, with benefits. I let out an astonished laugh. My father looks up from his phone, flipping the cover shut.
"You know I nearly cut my foot open on that god damned glass you left around my bed?" He says, an aggressive tone seeping into his voice.
"Then clean it up yourself" I say back. I want to hear more on the broadcast. I try fiddling with the dial to regain the newscast.
Wrong thing to say.
He's across the room before I even have time to shout. His hand is around my throat and I'm pushed against the wall. I push on his hand but for a drinker he's strong.
"You listen to me! Don't you EVER speak to me like that!" he yells, flexing his fingers. I let out a gurgled whimper.
"Do you hear me? You're gonna respect me like a daughter's supposed to respect her father. You're whore of a mother never learned that lesson, and where did it get her? She tried to leave me and I threw her out myself!" He roars. He releases his grip on my neck and goes around to yell in my face instead. I shrink back, intimidated by his screams. But I'm sick of his abuse. I'm sick of how he treats me, of how he treated my mom when she was still alive. And for the first time ever, I fight back. I grab a kitchen knife from the drawer in case a tries anything.
"No. You listen to me." I command. My voice doesn't waver as much as usual.
"I'm joining the army first thing tomorrow morning, and you have no right to stop me. You know why I was really home late? I got fired from work." I see some color go out of his face. He knows what that means.
"No more benefits for you. No more cheap cigarettes, no more booze, and no more food." I say. I immediately feel horrible for saying it though.
"Jill-" he says shakily.
"You can't leave me here-" I cut him off
"You're a grown man! YOU should be the one taking care of this family! Not me!" I stab the knife into the wooden counter.
"I'm getting my things. I'm leaving." I say with finality. I go into my room, congratulating myself on being brave and surprised that my father hadn't put up as much of a fight. I close the door and sigh, looking at the bottles he had left from a few night ago. I put his garbage in an old cardboard box in the corner and assemble my few belongings in a canvas backpack in another corner. I am positive that I will not be coming back here. My hand pauses over a large chunk of dusty glass. I blow on it lightly to reveal fading letters written in permanent marker. P A R I . I realize its a remainder of a piggy bank I had kept as a child, saving for a family trip to Paris. It seems like such a stupid idea now. The night my mother had left was the night he had broken it, using the few dollars of quarters to buy something... I rack my mind trying to remember what it was...
I hear clunking noises coming from my door.
"Dad?"
No response. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings earlier..." I say tentatively. I grab the first heavy thing to my right, a broken lamp, in case he's still pissed off and open the door.
But it doesn't open. I try again thinking the knob must be jammed. And again. But no change.
"Oh shit." I breathe, my eyes growing wide. "Shit, no, no!" I gasp. The only thing that could be keeping the door shut is the bike chain from the kitchen table. And there's no way I can break through that. My father is making sure I never leave.