writingsofabadwriter

[writingsofabadwriter]

A Memory.

My 20th birthday. I was actually excited for once. Finally, I was leaving my disastrous teenage years behind me. I had been moved out for 11 months, and all I wanted was sushi. I don't even remember what else was gifted to me that day. My stepdad, on the other hand, was in a bad mood. Overwhelmed possibly. Maybe he had a bad day at work, or he just didn’t like the sight of me anymore (I had been visiting for two weeks). Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to stay solely his problem. 

My birthday takes place at the very end of December, the 30th. Cold, cold winter. Christmas is right before my birthday, New years directly after it. But the 30th is my day. Again, I am actually excited. Plus, I’m not in school so I don’t feel bad about strangers forgetting it’s my birthday. 

The day before it, my dad had told me how unimportant it was. “We’ll do more for your 21st, your 20th isn’t a big deal.” It still stings, actually. But whatever, I don’t let him get to me.

 The day of, I don’t do much. I sleep in until 11am. I don’t eat breakfast. My dad is at work, so is my younger brother. My mom is also working, but she’s worked from home since I was maybe five years old. She wishes me a happy birthday with a big hug. I think my stepfather must have sent me a text, “Happy 20th.” All is well, but I feel it. Regret for staying at his house. Then, we’re driving up to the biggest small town near us to eat at the local sushi place.

 It’s special, my mom had to make reservations. My dad is going to meet us there, so I’m able to have a bit of peace on the drive up. When we get into town it’s busy. A Christmas tourist trap, and the holiday is still in full swing. I know my dad hates this time of year, so I try to brace myself for his bad mood. And oh what a bad mood he was in. 

It was immediate. Complaining about the people, about the restaurant. How he didn’t want to be there. After his complaints he goes in for a hug, it’s unwanted. I think to myself, “Why do you have to be here?” but say nothing, weakly smiling at my mother who is giving me a pitiful look. She also says nothing. I try to see what my brother is feeling, but his face remains stoic. 

We go into the restaurant, it’s small and cramped, but the smell of meat cooking fills the air. And again, I’m excited. “What are you going to get?” my mother whispers into my ear. “I’m not sure, I’ll have to look at the menu.” I whisper back giddily. Looking at my father I can see the discomfort on his face. Oh well, I think, his problem.

It’s so busy that even with the reservation we have to wait for a table. Which is okay, I haven’t minded waiting for a long time now. We stand awkwardly, moving out of the way of drunk patrons, rich assholes and tourists. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin, but I try to keep a smile on my face. My father does not. He’s complaining about something again, but I block it out. Me and my mom whisper to each other, ignoring him. Then he's complaining more. And more, and more. He asks if we even need to eat here, “Why is this so important? Why do we have to wait? This place is too busy, it sucks here. I hate this town. I hate the holiday season.” I hear it now.

I let it in, even though I tried so hard not to. Why is this so important, turns into, why are you so important? I smile at my mom again and tell her I’m going to use the bathroom. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Please don’t be occupied. Hurry up, get out of my way please. And then I’m there. Lucky for me, the bathroom is empty. When I open the door I see a single toilet, a sink, bamboo art decoration, and dark green walls poorly painted with vines. It’s not particularly dirty, just a tad run down and very small. Closing the door I realized how loud it was out there. At first the quiet brings a calming feeling, then my thoughts start to swarm. 

Something about the noise must have suppressed them, and the once welcoming quiet becomes overwhelming. Why doesn’t he just act like a father? It’s not a new thought, it’s something I’ve questioned my whole life. I disregard it and turn the thoughts inward. Why can’t I just ignore him? How could I let him get into my head? I didn’t even have to use the bathroom, I just thought I could escape him. But he’s ever more present there. He should just leave! Maybe telling him he can go home will make him feel better. No, then he’ll turn his anger towards me. I just have to ignore it, why can’t I just ignore it? In that ugly, cramped bathroom, I sit in a corner with my head in my hands.

Tears well up in my eyes. I’m so dramatic, I think to myself. Then it’s my fathers voice, Stop moping, you’re being ridiculous. My head is drumming with pain. I gasp for air, only then realizing I had been crying. Not even just crying, sobbing. I want to scream. My chest aches. It feels like it’s being stepped on. Like the air is being sucked out so forcefully my sternum could collapse. I bang my fist into the floor over and over again. Pain has always had a way of bringing me back. This time it barely works, but I’m able to stop myself from crying more. 

When I stand up, I go to look in the mirror. “God, what a fucking mess.” I mumble. It looks like I’ve run a mile, my face is blotchy and my nose is runny. I don’t remember crying so hard. I sit on the toilet seat with a dampened paper towel in my hand, tapping it on my cheekbones and forehead. Just breathe, shh just breathe.

After 5 minutes of that, I look into the mirror again. I don’t feel anything. I wipe away my smudged black eyeliner, fix my brows, smile and breathe some more. Presentable enough.

Leaving the bathroom I see my family still waiting. My father found a bench to sit on, but his face remains stern. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything. I wonder if my mother said something to him while I was in the bathroom. Doubt it. 

We’re there for maybe five more minutes, then we are finally able to get a table. Whatever happened during dinner, I don’t particularly remember. Everyone is quiet. We eat. My mother and I keep a steady conversation about something. I giggle at my brother, and try not to look at my father. 

The second we pay the bill, my father gets up. He drove himself and my brother there, so he asks if my brother wants to ride back home with him. My brother declines. So then he’s off. We follow behind him, but take our time. When we get into my moms vehicle my dad was already gone. 

“Why does he have to be like that?” I ask openly. My mom responds, “Honey, he was just having a bad day. Don’t let it get to you.”  The response I get answers nothing. “But it’s my birthday, and he’s acting like a complete asshole.” “Do not say that. Leave it alone.” I look at my brother, he appears utterly detached from the situation. Fine, I think. “Can we get ice cream?” I try to say in a cheery tone. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

 Then my mom’s phone rings. It’s my dad. When she answers he’s immediately yelling, “Some punk kid just ran in to my fucking car, Shannon. God dammit. I hate these fucking tourists, we shouldn’t have even come here. This is so fucking stupid.” My mom asks if he’s okay and if there is any damage to the car. “No, I’m fine, the car is fine. I just can’t stand this fucking place. I’m going home, see you there.” and hangs up. 

I laugh, and I laugh. I have a breakdown, and I laugh some more. Through breaths I manage to say, “he’s always talking about instant karma… look at him now. Oh my God, this is too good. Oh my god.” I’m still laughing, I genuinely can’t hold it back. I never thought I’d be so happy to hear my father got into a (small) accident. My mom seems angry at first, but when she looks at me I can tell she had similar thoughts. My brother almost looks worried. We drive down the road a bit, and then we see it. The little accident my dad got into. He’s still there, so he comes up to my moms car and complains some more. I snap a blurry photo of the ordeal. This is too good. 

The kid who hit my dad is panicking, but my dad just tells him to fuck off and that it doesn’t matter. Then gets into his car and drives home. But, police show up before we can get out of there. They make us go to a parking lot to sign papers,  and the kid awkwardly tries to apologize to my mother. The police tell us my dad shouldn’t have left, but they’re not going to do much about it because of the holidays. We always get stuck with my dad’s mess, I think to myself. I giggle a bit again, What a dramatic way to think. My mom tells them we aren’t going to press charges and that the kid can leave. Then we wish them happy holidays and new year, and leave. 

“So… Can we get some ice cream?” I ask. She thinks to herself for a bit, then responds, “Sure.” I look at my brother, give him a smile, and wonder about what type of ice cream I’m going to get. 

When we get home, we are in a much better mood. We had a time at the store, giggling and making jokes. I wanted Oreo ice cream. Not only for myself, but for my dad. I knew he’d like it, and maybe that’d put him into a better mood as well. At home my dad is sitting in the living room, playing some game on his phone. “We got ice cream!” I sing, looking at him for some form of gratitude. “Cool, I’m gonna smoke.” He responds, getting up and leaving for the garage. 

I roll my eyes. I’ve put the wall back up again, piece by piece. He’s not getting to me again tonight. I refuse to let it happen. While he’s in the garage my mother gets out bowls and spoons for us. We each get a big bowl of ice cream, as I’m eating I ask if we could watch a movie. “I don’t think so honey, it’s late and everyone is tired.” I sigh loudly, but say it’s okay. We all go and sit in the living room.

My brother finishes his bowl first, gives me a hug and tells me goodnight. “Goodnight, Joshua. I hope you sleep well. What a night.” “Yeah, I will. Happy Birthday.” He says back. He looks exhausted now, so I don’t tease him about going to bed so early. 

Looking at my mom I ask again if we could watch a movie. Actually, I beg, whining like a dog, “Pleeease…” She glances at me. I can see that she feels bad for what happened, so I use it as a reason to make her stay up with me. “Fine.” She finally says. We pick out a movie, and though I don’t remember what we watched, I felt loved that day. Finally.