Chapter 15: Later Saturday Morning

The laughter stopped as we walked out of the house. Dad had put a hand on my shoulder and steered me through the house with both of us chuckling away. But then Dad needed to use that hand to open and close the front door. We both more or less stopped laughing at the same time. Maybe it was the loss of contact. Maybe it was the chilly outside air. Whatever the reason, the laughter fell away from me and left me feeling empty again.

Is this what they mean when they talk about teenagers having mood swings? Because it sucks. Is it normal? Is what I’m feeling normal?

If this isn’t normal – if this is me being special and different – then that sucks too. I want it to stop. I want it to go away. I want to curl up inside the closet and go to sleep and not wake up until it’s all over. Like maybe when I’m twenty or something.

Can you do that, Dr K? Can you give me drugs or something so I go to sleep for seven years? I could be like Sleeping Beauty – except I’m not a princess and I’m not so beautiful and I only want to sleep for seven years instead of one hundred, and I don’t particularly care for the idea of some foreign prince slobbering over me like a randy dog being the only way I could wake up. But apart from that I could be like Sleeping Beauty. Just – sleeping. That would be nice.

I sat in the passenger seat and stared out of the window. Despite the morning sun glistening on the wet grass it was cold out there. I was kind of glad to be inside the car rather than outside. At least the car was slowly warming up as the heater did its job. I held my hands in front of the vent and felt the rush of warm air flow over them. That felt nice.

The street outside our house was quiet. There were no other cars driving around for Dad to dodge and the houses were all still sleeping. I mean, they were probably awake on the inside but nobody was rushing around outdoors. Lawns weren’t being mown, balls weren’t being thrown and bicycles weren’t being ridden.

Further down the road the stillness was broken by a pair of joggers as they stepped in unison along the footpath. She was wearing a bright pink tracksuit and a baseball cap with a bouncing ponytail poking out the back. He was tall and lanky – wearing white shorts and a blue basketball shirt with the name HIGH and a big number five on his back. I grinned to myself. I wondered if they chose that number deliberately or if it was random.

I watched as we drove past them. Their faces were calm – slightly flushed from the exercise but not strained. They weren’t talking but seemed content to jog beside each other in friendly silence.

My brain started making up images of them running undeterred through rain, snow, hail and then sunshine again. I put all the images up around the insides of my skull like in an art gallery. Little versions of me wandered from image to image discussing their inner meaning and the Truth they conveyed. After a little conference, they agreed that the most interesting image involved the pair of them running over pavement covered with a very thin layer of snow – a trail of dark footprints snaking out behind them, standing out clearly in the white snow, their breath misting in the cold air, faces still with that calm and determined look as they jogged in unison on and on forever.

Dad had been driving in silence. Now he cleared his throat.

“I saw the bruise on Tara’s face, before. She said she ran into a wall.”

Dad reached over with one hand and picked up my wrist. He waved my dangling hand in the air.

“Is this the wall she ran into?”

He let me wrist go and put his hand back on the steering wheel. I lowered my hand back into my lap and looked down. I watched as my two hands rubbed together. Tara is a lousy liar. She never fools anybody. I don’t know why she bothers.

“Yes,” I whispered. I don’t know if he heard me.

“You can’t go hitting your sister like that.”

I nodded down at my hands.

“I know she was involved with putting you in the closet last night and you have a right to be angry about that, but you can’t go hitting your sister. That won’t...”

His lecture cut off in midsentence.

We pulled up and stopped at the intersection. The ticking sound of the indicator filled the car and emphasized the silence between the two of us. Then Dad tried again.

“I don’t know how to...”

He stopped again. I kept looking down into my lap. We were still at the intersection – stationary. The car being still was like a metaphor for my brain. While we’d been moving, I’d been able to think. Now we were stopped, my brain was stopped too. And Dad’s sentences couldn’t get started either. Maybe he was having the same trouble with his brain. I don’t know if metaphor is the right word but there was clearly some connection.

The solution was obvious. All Dad had to do was pull out into the intersection and start driving again. There were big gaps in the traffic on the main road – he could have done it. But we didn’t move.

“Honey, I’m doing everything I can to protect you two. But how am I supposed to protect you from each other?”

The pain in Dad’s voice made me look up. I could see tears running down Dad’s face. I was shocked – and a bit surprised. This had come out of nowhere. In all my life, I don’t remember Dad crying more than a couple of times – not in front of me anyway. But this Thanksgiving he’s been breaking down all the time.

I always knew there was something broken inside of Daddy. He kept it hidden from most people but I always knew it was there. My confrontation with him the other night must have brought it to the surface. I was kind of hoping I’d healed him but I guess all I did was make a start and point him in the right direction. Obviously, I have to keep working on him – help him every way I can. For as long as it takes.

How long do you think it will take? Weeks? Months? Years?

“Do you know what my worst nightmare is?”

His voice was quiet and rough.

I blinked and looked into Dad’s face.

“I see the way we lead you around – when you’re like this. We take you by the hand and lead you around wherever we want you to go and we do to you whatever needs doing and you let it happen. Dan and Tara bathed you and dressed you, for crying out loud, and you let them – you stood there and let them. Despite the fact that you are so shy about your body that ... well, never mind. That’s my fault. I raised you to be shy about your body. I didn’t mean to but I did. I was trying to protect myself but all I did was...”

He stopped and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.

I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything.

“But this morning, you simply stood there – even when I...”

He shook his head and looked down.

I felt a little shiver go through me. I really had just stood there. In the past, I would have probably screamed and thrown things and hidden in my closet for hours. Maybe I’m getting better about the whole nekkidity thing. Dan did say that nekkidity is a state of mind. Maybe he was right. Maybe I’m getting better at coping with stuff like that.

I shivered again. Maybe not much better, but a little bit.

Dad hadn’t finished. He seemed to be forcing the words out.

“I lie awake at night and worry that one day you’ll be like this and some guy – some young punk with more hormones than brains – will ... will...”

His eyes stared sightlessly through the tears.

“ ... will hurt you – take advantage of you – get you to...”

He took a big breath.

“And you’ll let him do it. You’ll go along with whatever he wants you to do.”

My insides curled up into a little knot and squeezed.

I knew what he was saying. That’s one of my nightmares, too.

“How can I possibly protect you from that?”

How could anyone possibly protect me from that?

How could I possibly protect me from that?

But maybe my desire to protect myself would be stronger than my brain’s desire to shut down. Maybe it would let me scream, fight back, get away. I hope so. I don’t know, so that’s all I can do – hope.

The tears were running down his cheeks in an almost continuous stream.

“I lie awake trying to think how I can protect you from that. But it turns out the thing I most needed to protect you from was your own sister and her friends. They tied you up – locked you in the closet – left you in there for hours. I can’t believe...”

I sighed and looked at Dad. He was leaning back with his head against the headrest and his eyes were closed. His cheeks glistened. It was like he’d been holding himself together with bits of string and chewing gum and now he’d got to the point where he couldn’t do it any more.

I bit my lip. I should have noticed earlier today. Maybe if I’d noticed how badly he was struggling I could have said something – done something to make him feel better. I don’t know what, but something. He hadn’t been coping this morning when he tried to talk to me in the living room before he had breakfast. That should have been my clue.

I looked around. We were still stopped at the intersection. I figured we weren’t going anywhere, anytime soon. Dad wasn’t in a condition to drive. He couldn’t possibly see through those eyes flooded with tears. If he tried to drive now we would end up as the hood ornament for some truck or whatever. I looked at the keys dangling from the ignition and decided I really should do something.

I undid my seatbelt and reached over. I turned the key and heard the engine cough and then go quiet. If us not moving forward was a metaphor, I wonder what stopping the engine meant?

I pulled the keys out of the ignition and clutched them in my hand. Then I slid over and sat myself sideways in Dad’s lap – in the narrow space between his chest and the steering wheel. It’s good that I’m so small – there wasn’t a lot of room.

I leaned against Dad and wrapped my arms around his neck – pulling him down into a hug. Then I lay my head on his shoulder and hung on.

This was new territory for me. I can’t remember the last time I sat in Dad’s lap and hugged him. That probably means I haven’t done it since I was about three – if ever. I expected Dad to push me away but he didn’t.

His arms wrapped around me and hugged me tightly. Then he started sobbing into my shoulder.

“I’ve got you, honey,” he murmured into my ear. “You’re safe now.”

I wondered if he was talking to me or if maybe he was flashing back to his childhood again. I clung on even more tightly and closed my eyes. The tying up stuff must have brought back some horrible memories. My body shook with a sudden surge of anger.

That man should be grateful there’s a whole ocean between him and me. If he were any closer I’d ... I’d...

I don’t know what I would do.

But it wouldn’t be nice.

Something tightly wound up in my very center uncurled in response to my anger. B was still in there, waiting for a chance to take over. She had some very strong ideas about what needed to be done and she thought a mere ocean was a pitiful excuse for not getting on with doing them.

An angry honking sounded behind us. I looked over Dad’s shoulder and saw a car waiting behind us. I had to twist to get at the button that lowered the window and twist again to stick my hand out the window and wave the car around us.

As the car pulled slowly past us, I could see two women in the car. The woman on the passenger side leaned out of the window and let rip at us with a stream of abuse for blocking the road.

The anger I was feeling redirected itself at the woman in the car. I did something I’d never even considered doing before that moment. The hand that was waving out the window reformed itself to poke my middle finger towards the sky. The gesture is rude and crass and demeaning and stupid.

Hey! I’m a teenager. People expect teenagers to be rude. I guess I was living the stereotype.

I wonder if she’ll remember that she was rude to us first – before I did that back to her. Listen to me. I sound like a child. She did it first so that makes it okay? I don’t think so. I like to believe I’m better than that. Apparently not always.

I suppose I could blame B. She’s so very, very angry.

I pulled my hand back inside the car and closed the window. The woman had a point. We were blocking the road. But I couldn’t drive the car and I didn’t trust Dad to drive it so we were kind of stuck.

I looked at my little handbag, sitting where I left it on the passenger seat. I suddenly remembered that I had my cell phone in there. My phone is new so I’m still not used to always having it with me. I reached over and pulled it out of my bag.

Quickly, I sent a text message to Dan that said, “911 stuck pls come“ and the names of the streets at the intersection where we were.

A moment later my phone rang. It was Dan. I answered the call and held it to my ear.

“Bec? What’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt? Is Dad hurt?”

I opened my mouth to answer but no words came out. Typical! Just when I needed it the most, my voice ran away and hid. I hadn’t realized how much Dad being upset had gotten to me. I guess I’d been struggling all morning so it didn’t take much to push me over the edge.

“Bec? Are you there?”

I pulled the cell phone away from my ear and stared at it. Phones aren’t so useful when your voice isn’t working. I cancelled the call and sent another message.

“nbdy hrt pls cm“

I thought for a moment and then sent another one. I took more time but Mrs Stone would’ve still been appalled by my abuse of grammar and punctuation.

“dad upset cant drive stuck“

Almost immediately, I got a reply from Dan.

“omw“

I lay my head on Dad’s chest and stared at my phone for what seemed like ages but was probably only a few seconds before my brain translated his message into “On my way.”

I could feel Dad’s chest heaving under me as if he was trying to get control of himself. I put one arm back around behind his head and kissed the side of his neck. He still had his arms wrapped around me. He’d loosened them a bit while I was wriggling around doing all of that but now he tightened up again and gave me a little squeeze.

Dad put his face against my hair and I felt his chest push out as he took in a big breath. I realized he was smelling my hair. I probably smelled of soap and shampoo.

“Ah! My precious little Bec,” he muttered. “Give me a few more minutes and I’ll be good to go.”

He kissed the top of my head and squeezed me again.

A little smile snuck its way onto my face. I was sitting on my father’s lap and he was hugging me. It was hard to be totally miserable when my father was hugging me.

I felt a little movement under my thigh where it pressed into Dad’s lap. I guess that was to be expected. Now that he wasn’t so upset, he was noticing that he had a girl sitting on his lap. I ignored it and let myself relax against his chest. I’d promised that I didn’t care about that stuff and I intended to keep my promise. The movement stopped without getting any more – you know – more, so I figured that was a small victory.