Page 51 of Rebound

“That’s not—”

“Don’t give your brothers access to your food stamps,” I warn, cutting him off. “The last time you did, they sold it, remember? But I’m sure you’ll figure out a way just like you’ve always figured out a way to get beer.”

He stands there, stunnedinto silence. The tears continue and he swipes them away. I’ve been angry at him, but I’ve never voiced it. I’ve stuffed the feelings down, and now they’re coming up. Something changes, and now instead of sadness and despair, I see some defiance. He stands tall again and sticks out his chest, and I can’t wait to hear what is going to come out of his mouth next.

“I did the best I could,” he says, his voice breaking.

“Really? That’s your answer? You did the best you could?” I scoff.

“I did.”

“Yeah? What did you do? Tell me!” I scream. When he continues to stand there without saying a word, I say, “Your best is a very low bar. Look around you, Dad.” I gesture at the dank and depressing room. “Is this your best? Your only child is about to go to college, and he doesn’t even have a fucking suitcase. All of my clothes, the ones I had to find at Goodwill, are shit! Do you know how hard it is for someone my height to find clothes that fit? When have you ever thought about what I need? I’ll tell you when. It was never. You don’t give a fuck about anything other than getting your hands on a cold beer and planting your ass on the couch to wallow in your own fucking misery. Well, I hope you choke on it.”

“I’ve always thought about it,” he whispers. He has his head down and won’t look at me.

“And then what? After you thought about it, what did you do?” I press. When all I hear in the room is a sniffle followed by silence, I say, “Yeah. That’s what I thought. You did shit. Or do you consider sitting your ass on the couch and guzzling beer something? You figured out a way to get beer but couldn’t figure out a way to take care of me. Do I have that right? You never had a low supply of your favorite drink, but when it came to buying me school clothes, you couldn’t care less. I play basketball, and I’ve had to buy second-hand sneakers, Dad. But yeah. You care somuch.”

He’s against the wall, a shrunken and broken man. His previous short bout of defiance is gone, and he’s back to being a shell of a man. He’s back to the man I’ve known all my life. Disgusted with him, myself, and this situation, I look away.

I bend down to inspect the suitcase now that some of my anger has abated. I’ve carried those feelings inside of me for years, and now that they’re out, I don’t feel any better than I did before. Now, I regret the fit of rage that caused me to completely ruin the one piece of luggage that I desperately need.

“I have to go see if I can find a decent suitcase at Goodwill,” I say tersely. Normally, I’d ask if he needs anything. I’d check the fridge and make a list of food supplies that we need, but not today. “Do you know why? Because I’m getting out of here and away from you. I’m never coming back. I’m free of you and this fucking place. If there’s a God, I’ll never have to see your face again. Hallelujah.”

I storm out the front door and resist slamming it only because I know how precarious it is. One slam, and it might come off its old hinges, and I don’t have the time or the resources to fix it.

I sit on the stairs, careful to avoid the middle step with the hole in it, take a deep breath and scream. Then I count to fifty and look up at the sky, angry again at the world for this hand I’ve been given. A shitty life with a shitty parent in a shitty trailer that I can’t escape because that shitty parent is more like a child I can’t abandon.

But why should I care when he abandoned me years ago? Not only that, but he also reversed our roles, and I’ve been playing the part of the parent since I was a kid. He never signed the permission slip for me to play basketball. I left it on the table for him for days. I remember that week was particularly difficult. He stayed on the couch under a blanket for an entire week. He only ate because I brought him food. I had to force him to get up and stretch his legs. Finally, on the day that the permission slips were due, I forged his signature.For the entire time of my tenure in high school, I forged his signature on everything. Whether it was a report card or a permission slip, I signed it, and he never once asked about it.

He’s never come to a game or a play or an open house. I can count on one hand how many times he’s talked to one of my teachers, but I guess it wasn’t necessary. I was an excellent student and a gifted athlete.

After getting up and taking my bike the half mile to Goodwill, luck is on my side, and I find a suitcase. Even though it’s awkward to ride back home with it, and it slows me down, I manage to get it done.

He’s standing by the front door when I return, and I refuse to look at him. He follows me when I go into my room to pack my new suitcase.

“Looks like you found a nice one,” he says, sounding sheepish. I don’t respond. He sits on my bed and watches me. As usual, he doesn’t offer to help. “You deserve so much more and so much better than me.” If he’s hoping I’m going to refute those words, he’s going to be disappointed. I pull out another shirt that has holes in it. I bunch it up and toss it in the corner. At this rate, I’m going to wear the same three shirts repeatedly. At least I’ll have a job on campus. Maybe I’ll be able to afford some new clothes in a month or so.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. I was so in my head, I forgot he was still here. Only a few more days, and I can get out of this town, out of his dump, and away from him. “You’re all I have,” he says. “I don’t blame you if you leave here and never look back. Maybe if I was in your shoes, that’s what I’d do too.”

“You? Leave? As in walk out the front door and go somewhere? Don’t make me laugh.” I don’t bother to look at him, and I can only imagine the look on his face.

He leaves the bed and stands before me. I can see his shadow, but I refuse to look up and acknowledge him. He takes my hands, and whenI try to pull them away, he holds them tight. I’ve never known him to show any kind of strength.

“But I hope you won’t do that. I don’t know what I’d do without you, and it’s not because of everything you do around here. It’s because you’re my son, and I know I haven’t been the parent you need, and I haven’t loved you the way you should be loved, but I do love you. I wish I could do better by you, and I tried. You don’t know, but I tried. I simply can’t.” He drops my hands and his head. “You don’t need me, Seth, but I need you.”

He walks out without another word. Shame hits the instant he closes the door behind him. Giving up all hope of packing, I throw myself on the bed, stare at the ceiling, and scream.

Chapter 30

Seth

Layla’s been watching me since I talked to her a few hours ago. After we drove by the school, we went to the grocery store because my dad fucked up the groceries and didn’t get the right vegetables for the dinner he’s demanding. He’s in the living room now, happy as a pig in mud while he and Jasmine destroy the house. He’s making forts with blankets, but each time he makes one, Jasmine jumps on it and laughs like it’s the funniest thing. Dad pretends to be angry, but even a toddler doesn’t buy his anger when he’s laughing harder than she is.

Layla stands next to me while she chops zucchini, onions, and mushrooms.

“I can do it,” I tell her. “You can relax or whatever. Make yourself a drink. You probably need it after the shit I unloaded on you.”

“I’m so much better at chopping veggies than you. You need me.”

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