Author's Note: One of the things I am most proud of having written. Sorry for deleting it.
I.
Owen climbs into the front seat of his father's Volvo, while his brothers scramble into the back. They are heading back to their mothers after their obligatory, court-ordered Saturday visitation hours.
"We need to stop at the store on the way home."
Just like Owen knew it would, his father's jaw tightens, and he looks directly at the road in front of them, refusing to make eye contact.
"That's what your mom does."
Behind him, Noah and Trey are horsing around, locked in an arm-wrestling contest and kicking the backs of the seats. They don't want to hear this.
"There's nothing at home to eat," Owen says, staring directly at his father.
His father grips the steering wheel. "Why are you doing this?"
"If you cared about us at all, you would take us to the store," Owen replies.
His father's face is impassive, still not looking at his son.
They stop at the store.
II.
Owen isn't sure that his dad qualifies for the typical definition of "deadbeat dad". He's not a bum, he's not a homeless druggie, he's not some abusive jerk. He is a successful accountant, working good hours and making good money. They seem like the definition of typical: three bedroom, 2.5 bathroom, two story house. Yard in the front, family sedan in the driveway. The Milligans are nothing short of the very definition of average.
His father is also an alcoholic.
While he was never a dramatic or abusive drunk, his alcoholism eroded the normalcy of the house, and like coke that wears away at an enamel, eventually there was nothing left. And when Owen was fourteen, his father left them for good.
It wasn't some dramatic scene, precluded by lots of fighting and late-night screaming matches that he could hear through the walls of his bedroom. No, it was nothing like that. His father just simply didn't come home one night, and instead of his drunken presence, they were treated with more visual reminders of his absence: one less coffee cup in the sink, less items on the weekly shopping list, one less toothbrush in the holder.
III.
For almost four weeks, nobody knows where he is. And then, out of the blue, he calls.
"Why are you doing this?" Owen asks, furious. He is the oldest. Noah is eleven, and Trey is four.
"I'm alright," he answers, as if that is even an answer. "Don't worry, okay? Tell the kids I'm fine."
He hangs up without asking how his boys are doing.
IV.
There was no big drama. No bitter mudslinging, no vicious accusations of adultery or domestic abuse or sexual molestation of the children. Nothing. It was just simply over. The ease with which it had happened, along with the paradoxical perplexity of the fact that their life had been dissolved so quickly, effortlessly, and suddenly, was something they couldn't understand.
Just like that, their entire world was over.
Note to self: The most awful things that can happen to a person don't happen all at once, in some big, cataclysmic, apocalyptic event. They happen at the most mundane times when our minds are filled with thoughts of over things: laundry, grocery lists, bills that need to be paid. Life doesn't give you dramatic background music and a slow-motion pan on everyone's grief-stricken faces to a swelling musical overture in those moments. It's just like everything else in life- boring, mundane, and for the most part, soundless.
V.
So he is left sitting in the kitchen after the call, listening to the vibrations of the dishwasher and the tick of the clock on the wall. He suddenly has to process the fact that his entire life has changed.
But at the same time, he feels as if nothing has changed, and it disappoints him. How is he supposed to direct himself through this?
VI.
Around that time, he started hanging out with Fitz and Bianca and the rest of the guys at the Ravine. Because he needed some sort of proof that his life had changed, even if everything seemed the same at home. He needed to prove that there was a crack in the immaculate china, even if everybody else seemed hell-bent on keeping it locked up in the display case and just turning it away from view to pretend that nothing was wrong.
He never told Fitz and Bianca about his home situation; not that they would have cared, but there was a freedom in that. With them, he was someone different than he was at home. They didn't know any better. Ignorance was bliss.
VII.
In spite of stern orders from various judges in family court, his father steadfastly refuses to pay child support or alimony for his three sons. Any time his mother tries to get wages attached, to it, he simply changes jobs and moves farther away, refusing to accept any responsibility for the detritus of their broken marriage. She spends most of Owen's high school years in and out of court like a revolving door, trying to force their father to pick up the pieces.
But Owen figures good riddance.
VIII.
His mother wanted peace in the family, but knew that her husband was too proud to ask for it, even though he wanted it, too. She never spoke an ill word about their father to the boys, and forced them all to go to those Saturday visitation hours for as long as she could, until Owen was a junior and told her that she couldn't force him anymore. Noah went for a bit longer, and Trey was still too young to really understand everything, so he spent the most time with their dad after the divorce.
His mom tried to get him to see his dad after he refused to go to those Saturday afternoon visits, but he was done. He didn't care anymore. His dad didn't want them? Then fine with him. Owen didn't need him either. He didn't give a shit anymore.
IX.
Does his old man really think that he can just walk out on all of it- him, his mom, Noah and Trey- and just have everything be all good? Does he really think he can just take off and leave them?
And most of all- what makes him think that he can totally rearrange the lives of his family like that, and then go off and act like nothing's changed?