Did you miss Part I, Part II, or Part III?

The pain shot from my back to every part of my body. It was intense, white-hot, and it brought me up in the bed ready to fight.

“What do you want?”

“The garbage! You forgot to take out the garbage. You always forget things! What’s wrong with you, anyway? Now get up and take out the trash!”

“But, dad, it’s raining. Can’t I take it out in the morning?”

The swift slap was followed by even more rage. “Don’t you ever talk back to me! Now go do what I said!!”

I cried as I took out the trash, and the tears mixed with the rain and soothed my throbbing cheek. Drops from heaven ran down my back and cooled the new stripe that had been added to my reminders of other nights. I wanted to stay outside. I wanted to walk down the driveway and never come back. But, I couldn’t. My mom needed me. She needed me to protect her, to fix our family.

As I crawled back into my bed, I was already dreading the next night. It would be the same as tonight, and last night, and the multitude of nights before those. Last night it was the dishes, tonight the trash. I could never please him, no matter how hard I tried. He always found something that I had done wrong, or hadn’t done at all. As I slipped into sleep, I prayed that God would make me a good kid.

Tomorrow: Lost time – Part V

Did you miss Part I or Part II?

As soon as dinner was over, Dad would go out with his friends. I wished he would take me with him, but at least my dad had friends to play with. Mom would clean up, got to her room, and leave me to entertain myself until I went to bed. My father always seemed to come home just as I was lying down. I always wished that he wasn’t home, or that I was already asleep. I hated it when he came home.

The slam of the car door followed by the house door, then his footsteps in the hall, moving closer and growing louder, echoing the beating of my heart. He stopped outside my door.

“Hey, boy!”

His voice was loud, gruff, and it scared me. I pretended I was asleep.

“I’m talking to you!”

Now? Why not at the table when I actually wanted to talk?

“I know you’re awake,” he said, pushing the door open. “Now sit up when I’m talking to you!”
I could smell the beer even though he was still in the hall. He was drunk and mad, and I almost sat up. But if I could just convince him I was asleep, maybe he’d got to bed.

I lay as still as I could, my back to my dad, and I heard him step into the room. The sound of the belt whipping through the loops on his pants almost called my bluff, but I knew the beating would be worse if he knew I was lying about being asleep, and so I didn’t move.

Tomorrow: Lost time – Part IV

Did you miss Part I

My seat was always in the middle, to the right of my mother and the left of my father, and I ate with my head down. There was no sense looking at my parents because they would not be looking at me. Even if they had, I hated looking at Mom. There’s something so horrifying about seeing a person whose spirit has been broken. Dinnertime was all the proof I needed to know that Mom was an empty shell, barely recognizable as a person.

There was always the attempt at conversation. I wanted so badly to be part of my father’s life, his day, his job. And though I knew he wouldn’t respond, I always tried.

“Dad?”

“Mmpph,” he’d reply, his mouth stuffed with food.

“How was work today?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” His voice sounded edgy, and though I knew I shouldn’t, I pushed harder. After all, he was my father and I loved him. “What happened? Was it a bad day?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” The rising volume warned me, like a growling bear. He was in a bad mood just like all the other nights. And just like all those other nights, my attempts had failed. But I never learned, and I never stopped trying. Surely, if anyone could cheer Dad up after a bad day, I could. Cautiously, I approached again.

“Dad…”

“SHUT UP! Can’t you see I’m trying to eat?! Why do you keep bothering me? Just sit there and let me eat in peace!”

Silence. Only the silverware hitting the plates dared to make a sound. Why did he always yell at me like that? What did I do wrong? I must have been a bad son. A good son wouldn’t have bothered his father during dinner. A good son would have eaten his food and kept quiet.

Lost time – Part III tomorrow…