Journal-

Bie Anonymous

Is anybody there? It’s me again, and I could just really use someone to talk to, I could just really use a shoulder, right now.

Dad’s going to court. I’ve been subpoenaed. For assault.

Crazy, I know. My dad, and me in a court room with a lawyer staring at us, trying not to choke with the judge and his wig and a big flag beside me and the bible staring at me daring me to lie and the bailiff with his pistol and arms bigger than my head…

I just need someone not so artificial right now. I just need someone to talk to. To laugh with.

I remember when I was too small to each the refrigerator door handle, and I was sitting on mom and dad’s bed and dad came home and he was wearing a nice blue sweater, like the ocean, and he asked me if I wanted to go to the park and I said no.

Big kids don’t go to the park.

And I walked out of the room and he was sitting on the bed, the keys in his hands dropping to the floor.

You know, I’m failing math right now. I wish they’d give me an F, but all I get is an E. I wish something was real, you know? Something was real…

Dad’s going to see the lawyer today. This afternoon. He’s leaving work early so he can rush over to his friend’s big firm to discuss options. My dad, forty-eight and graying, discussing options. So he doesn’t go to jail.

It must take everything for him not to cry.

When I was twelve, I wanted to go see a late night movie. It was a Thursday, and it was cloudy. The movie was at midnight, and I knew that dad wouldn’t let me go.

But I asked anyway.

And he said no.

We argued for hours, until I didn’t even really care about the movie anymore, I just wanted to argue. I just wanted to see him care.

That was the first time he threw me down. It wasn’t the first time I cried myself to sleep.

The weather today was an iconic rainy, but there’s ironic sunshine now.

I worry about global warming and extinction and asteroids, and my E in geometry, but sometimes…

We’re going to court in April. It’s March now. Dad’s going to wear his deep blue suit, like the ocean. And I’ll wear an emotionless face, and I’ll listen to the lawyer, and I’ll stare down at the bible and wonder what is really truth.

Dad use to love the ocean. When I was a kid, we’d go all the time. I remember him and mom use to leave me sitting on a towel so they could go in and hold each other and kiss, and they were happy.

Dad got fired the weekend after.

Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t just go to the park with dad when he asked. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t such a big kid.

Dad once told me that the reason he doesn’t come home some nights is because he hates it here. It’s too dirty, too filthy.

I just watch him, as he says these things, and my lip quivers.

I don’t tell him that I hate it too.

My grandparents use to tell me I was just like my father, and I liked it because some mornings, back when I was to little to use the grown up toilet, my dad would hold me up on the sink and smear shaving cream on my face and I’d pretend to shave as he really shaved, and we’d both laugh.

The night I threw my dad on the floor, the night mom’s friend called the police as my ten year old brother and I watched as my dad was taken out of our house in handcuffs, for assault, that night he told me I was just like him.

And I was disgusted.

I’ve been sick for a week and if time slows down anymore, I might just start balling and that’s the last thing I want.

Tonight I’ll go home and dad will be there asleep in the covers, deep blue, like the ocean, and mom will lie drooling and my brother will be gone and I’ll whisper to him.

I’ll tell him that I’ll go get my coat.

And I’ll hope he’ll answer me back, and it’s not too late to go.