The Day All The Statues Came To Life

Jude drove like an old woman and always drummed along with the radio on the steering wheel, be it a commercial or an old 90’s soft rock song. It was enough to drive me crazy. I was still fuming over Bex’s insistence that she get to keep the car tonight, forcing me to ask Jude in the first place. Frankly, he was the only one of my friends that wasn’t intoxicated and I wasn’t slightly pissed at.
“Right here is fine.” I said when we were within a block of my apartment building.
Jude just rolled his eyes. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be all embarrassed about your house.”
I scowled at him. “I’m not.”
“I’m not that shallow, you know.”
I glanced over at him, taking in his tight designer jeans, his rolled up button down shirt, his hair all casually messed up; if the boy didn’t scream rich and shallow then I was hardly a judge of character. “It’s that one.” I said finally.
As he pulled up closer, I noticed my father’s car. It was parked sideways, half on the sidewalk, half in the spot, the door was still open. Before I could help it I gasped. “Whoa.” Jude said. “Who’s is that?”
“My dad.” I whispered, undoing my seatbelt and was halfway out the car before Jude had safely stopped it.
“Hang on!” He hissed, grabbing my arm to stop me. “I don’t think you should go in there by yourself.”
“Let go! He could be passed out, or hurt-“
“I’m coming with you.”
“No!” I yelped. “Absolutely not!”
Jude frowned and yanked up the sleeve of my shirt to show the slightly visible bruises from the last time my dad had been intoxicated.
“I fell.” I snapped.
“Well, I’d hate for you to ‘fall’ again.” He said pointedly.
“I’m going up there. You are leaving.”
“Not a chance.” He got out of the car and walked to the front door, pausing to wait for me. I slammed the door shut a little harder than necessary and then shut my dad’s car door. I’d come back and park it later to avoid the ticket. I scowled at him even more as I opened the door to the building and started up the stairs.
“Stop it.” He said gently, noticing my pure embarrassment. I couldn’t help it though. As far as I was concerned, Jude had no right to be here, no right to be in my building right now, with its chipped linoleum floor and peeling wallpaper. He had no right to be leaning up against my apartment door as I fumbled with the key, and he certainty had no right to be seeing my father on the floor of the bathroom surrounded by his own vomit.
As soon as I saw him though, I forgot all about it, shoving Jude aside and knelt down, turning him over, careful to avoid looking at the mess in case I got sick from it too. “Dad? Daddy?” I asked, shaking him slightly.
“Bex? Bexy?” He moaned. I swallowed and glanced up at Jude, who was looking away pointedly.
“Yes, it’s me.” I lied. “It’s ok, Dad, I’m here.”
“Bexy.” He breathed. “My little doll.” He smiled slightly and then closed his eyes again. “Help me get him to the bedroom?” I asked, without looking at him. If I looked at him, I would pray to whoever listened to swallow me into the floor and never let me up again.
“Yeah.” He said leaning down and putting an arm around his shoulder and helping me half drag, half carry him to his bed. Once situated, I ran back to the bathroom and grabbed a towel, wetting it so I could clean up his face. I then moved a trashcan next to the bed, got a large glass of water and some Advil, making him drink it all and then finally moving to the bathroom to scrub it down in pure bleach. The whole time Jude followed behind me, handing me what I needed without being asked, not saying anything. It was better to keep moving, better to keep busy, better to keep checking that dad was breathing. But around 4 am, I ran out of things to do.
“Thank you.” I said softly to Jude. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with this.” He said, sounding genuinely apologetic.
I shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. Do you want some coffee?”
“That would be great.”
We went to the kitchen and I made a pot, and for a while we drank in silence listening to the gentle snores coming from the bedroom.
“Are you older than Bex?” He asked suddenly.
I curled my hands around the mug. “No. Why?”
“I dunno. You just seem…so much more grown-up.”
I smiled, but it wasn’t really funny. “My mom left when Bex needed her the most, I’m all she has.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Is she there for you?”
I chewed on my lip for a minute. “Yes.”
He looked skeptical. “Are you really that unselfish?”
I sighed, feeling irritated from lack of sleep, from my father doing this once again, and from Jude’s prying questions. I grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the counter and lit one up. “I am selfish.”
He snorted.
“Don’t do that.” I snapped. “Don’t act like you know shit about me.”
“I’m just saying what I see. You take care of your father, you take care of your sister, you wait on them hand and foot, your dedicated to the man-whore, I mean honestly, what do you do that’s not for someone else?”
I scowled at him. “What is there to do? This is my life; all I have is Bex and my father. If I don’t hold them together, they’ll fall apart.”
“Do you care?”
I slammed down my mug. “Of course I care. Who doesn’t care about family?”
“I’m just saying, your family doesn’t seem to care about you as much as you do them.”
“And I’m just saying, keep your fucking opinions to yourself.” I snarled. There was a long silence.
“How often does he hit you?” Jude snapped back at me.
“I fell.” I repeated.
He scoffed and sat back in his chair. “Bullshit. It is such bullshit, Teagan. Ryan freaked out the first time he saw the bruises and then Jake told him-“
“It’s none of their business!” I snapped again, standing up this time. “Leave me alone!” I could feel tears prickling at my eyes. I despised crying. As far as I was concerned, it was a waste of time. Tears got nothing accomplished, having a cry didn’t help you out of a situation, and they only made you look weak.
Realizing he had touched a nerve, Jude backed down. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I think you should leave.” I said, not looking at him. ‘My father wouldn’t like it if you stayed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Just go!” I turned and started rinsing my cup out in the sink. I might as well get the dishes done. And then do some laundry, wash the dirty clothes and towels I had used…maybe do some of my summer reading…
I heard Jude’s chair scrape across the floor as he stood up, and then quite suddenly his arms were around my waist, his breath slightly cold on my exposed neck. “I’m sorry.” He repeated. “I shouldn’t have…I just…I’m sorry.” He placed his lips very briefly on cheek and then was gone.
I didn’t move again until I heard his car drive away in the parking lot.