It’s Been a Long Day and ….
My dad and I drove as far as we could go and stopped at a roadside motel. He went into the room while I stayed outside to smoke.
It was the first day in forever that I’d had no alcohol. I didn’t know that going without it would affect my mood. I didn’t even know there was an invisible line, let alone that I’d crossed it.
I didn’t know that the person I’d become was not the person I’d always been.
My dad didn’t know either. He stepped outside, ready for bed. It had been a very long day for him. He’d flown to Florida, rented a U-Haul, found his wayward daughter at a gas station, packed up her stuff, driven hours and hours, and buried a couple of hamsters along the way.
“Do you think you’ll be coming inside anytime soon?” he asked. “I’d like to get some sleep.”
I snapped snarkily: “How am I supposed to know when I’m coming inside? I can’t tell you when that’s going to happen!”
“Well it’s been a long day and ….”
“I know it’s been a long day!” I interrupted. “My hamsters are dead! I left Larry! And I’ve been sleeping all day so I’m not exactly sure that I can just lay down on a bed and go to sleep right now!”
My dad stepped back, stunned. “It would just be easier for me if ….”
There wasn’t an ounce of empathy in my body. “Easier for you?! I’m the one whose whole life is over! I’m the one who has to go back to living with my fucking parents because I have nowhere else to go!”
My dad finally reacted to my pushing. “Are you serious? I did this for you! I could have stayed in bed instead of flying to Florida, but you needed our help and ….”
I cut him off again, yelling now: “Maybe it would be easier for you if I didn’t come home with you at all! How ’bout if I fucking live right here! Would that be easier for you?! Maybe I’ll just live right fucking HERE!” I was spitting acid.
“I just wanted to …” he tried.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. “Fuck you and whatever you want! I’ll find a place to live right here! I don’t need your fucking help!”
I stomped across the parking lot, heading for the highway, heading into darkness again.
My dad – who had a good eight inches and 50 pounds on me – walked quickly and caught me. He grabbed me around the waist, nearly tackling me before I could start hitchhiking.
I refused to break. I was going to be free, dammit; I was independent! I punched at his face behind my head and when he grabbed my arms to keep me from punching, I started flailing in the air, kicking him in the shins, nearly knocking his feet out from under him while he constrained me, completely off the ground.
“Let me go!” I screamed as I kicked. “Let me fucking gooooo!”
He held me until I stopped kicking, until I stopped screaming, until I wore myself out and collapsed on the ground in front of him.
My dad stood over me for a minute, waiting to be sure I was done running, fighting, kicking, screaming, at least for the moment.
Finally he said, “I’ll leave the door unlocked. “Come in when you’re ready.” Then he walked back into the room to sleep.
Half an hour later I walked in, too, and cried myself to sleep.