"What the hell do you want?" he spat out, loosing some of his initial fear.
"Now that's no way to greet your father," the big man held out his arms in a mock show of compassion. "I ran into a friend of yours who said he knew you in medical school. Said that you were back in Chicago."
Dave swallowed hard, trying to control the fear that made him scowl.
"Thought I'd drop by and see how my boy was doin'," he took a step towards Dave who immediately stepped back.
"I-I'm fine," Dave was against the kitchen counter.
"Well, you don't look so fine," his dad suggested, trying to converse as he walked forward.
"That's, that's because I don't want you here, I-" his father's backhand sent pain radiating through his cheek as he fell to the floor.
"Damn you!" his father yelled as his face contracted in anger. "What the hell are you doing here?! Hiding from me?!"
Dave held his cheek as he looked up at his father, his mind racing with words but his body unable to express them.
"Using up all of your inheritance on medical school?! Damn boy, you're an idiot."
Dave slowly got up, his eyes never leaving his drunken father.
"That damn bitch of a mother shouldda' left me the money. Fucking half-breed bitch-"
"Don't talk about mom like that," Dave's voice was strengthened by anger as he locked eyes with his father.
"Why the fuck do you care? Huh? What the hell are you gonna' do about it?"
Dave breathed shakily as he tried to keep his composure while locking eyes with the personification of all that he feared. His father regarded him for a moment, then a disgusted look crossed his face. "You fuckin' red skin," he spat as he pressed his arm against his son's neck and slammed him into the wall. The force of the impact sent waves of pain radiating outward from his back while the pressure on his neck increased, making it painfully hard to breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut as he gripped the arm that was stealing his breath, unable to pry it away. After a few more long moments his father stepped back. Dave fell to the ground, his right hand going to his throat as he coughed. Between gasps of air he saw his father slowly backing away, with tears on his cheeks. He looked as if he meant to say something but instead turned and walked away.
Dave remained on the floor panting, making sure his father had really left before daring to climb to his feet. He could hear the large man clomping down the hallway and waited until there was silence before getting up. His muscles were all ready tired from hockey and now a new pain chimed in.
As the adrenaline slowly dissipated from his system he looked around shakily. Everything was as it should be, his father had just let himself in and guzzled beer while watching TV and waiting for him to come home. He let out a heavy sigh and traipsed into his bedroom, then half-sat and half dropped onto his bed.
"Aw man..." he moaned, rubbing his face with his hands. He couldn't believe this was happening. He'd tried so hard to escape his past. Hell, he happily moved to Grenada when he realized it was his last shot at medical school. He'd hoped he'd never have to see his father again, but now it seemed that all of his attempts to escape from him were futile. He'd tried so hard to forget, to leave that dark and miserable part of his life behind him, and now felt like throwing up upon feeling that familiar taste of fear invade him. His father had always had that kind of control over him and he hated it. He'd planned in his head so many times what he'd say and do if confronted by his father again, yet all of that had been lost the instant he recognized the familiar, sadistic glint in his father's eyes.
He'd always tried to ignore the crude comments that others made towards him, but it was times like these that they all came creeping back to him, ringing true. All of the confrontations with the people he worked with came back in a wave, sinking his heart and soul. He wished he could apologize to all of them and not behave like such a jerk but he couldn't. The minute he'd let his guard down he'd open himself up to pain, and he couldn't live like that. He'd let himself sink into the habit of talking before he thought. That exact problem had led him into a fight with Benton and glares from his colleagues that pierced his soul, although he'd never let them know that. They were happy believing that somehow he managed to live day after day as a careless, sloppy, opinionated jerk. And the worst part was that he liked them- all of them-which was what made each comment worse. He looked up to Peter Benton; respected him as a man who didn't let anything or anyone get in his way. He admired Kerry's strength for being such a commanding woman despite how hard it must have been to live with a crippled leg. And Luka's courage for coming to another country, learning another language and succeeding in so many ways beside the obvious demons in his past. Carter for overcoming what had happened to him and Lucy on Valentine's Day, Carol for following her heart, Jing-Mei for being so strong in the face of the immense loss she felt at giving up her baby for adoption, and Abby for persevering through life, no matter how many obstacles it seemed to throw at her. He knew all of this, even if they didn't think he did; yet he could never bring himself to say it. He knew that anything anyone had ever criticized him on was true. He was wasting his life by wearing a mask to the world.
He heard a soft whine from under the bed. He got onto all fours and peeked underneath. "Comanche- hey 'lil guy," the brown of his eyes locked with those of his frightened puppy. "Come on out," he reached under and scratched his fluffy head. He remained sitting and after a minute his half yellow lab, half golden retriever climbed out and into his lap.
"It's okay little friend," he hugged his puppy close, comforting both of them. "My little Comanche warrior..." he buried his face in Comanche's fur. "Jerk," he said out loud, thinking that his father had probably scared the new puppy to death, making it hide under his bed like that. The puppy started squirming and Dave let go, laughing as he watched the fluffalufagus spot his food dish and wag his tail. "More like Comanche pig than warrior..."
He remembered when he first found Comanche, all alone and cold out in a cardboard box- abandoned in an alley. Dave had been riding his bike, anxious to get out of the rain when he saw the box tip over. Curiosity won over the want to go to a warm home immediately and he had stopped. No one else was around so he figured the two, two-month-old puppies were abandoned. He put them inside his jacked and pedaled home, happy that his landlady allowed pets. The puppies were quick to gain back lost energy and were soon playing on the floor of his apartment- and causing trouble. That was when he decided to give Comanche's sister to the little girl down the hall. The simple act had made him a hero and she often stopped by to see how Comanche was doing and to let him and "Cherokee"- as she had named her puppy, play together. Dave had given Comanche his name as he had watched him fearlessly explore his new surroundings and tackle his sister, like the Comanche warriors who had terrorized the early Texans. He had originally meant it to be a nickname, but it had stuck, and as soon as little Amanda from down the hall learned that Comanche was an Indian name she gave her puppy the only Indian name that she knew- Cherokee.
He walked into the living room and saw a picture taped on the wall that she had made him as a Christmas gift. Of course the eight-year-old was no Monet, but he loved it all the same. He was inclined to agree with anyone who said that kids and dogs are the best kind of people. He was happy to know that right now Amanda was probably in her bed and asleep with Cherokee and her parents nearby. He loved that little girl and couldn't imagine why she thought of him as she did. Anything he expressed the slightest interest in she wanted to know about. She knew that he was a doctor and came to him once when she had skinned her knee playing in the street and her parents weren't home. She felt comfortable to cry in front of him- and didn't stop as he tried to coax her into wearing a band aid with neosporin. She insisted that it would make it hurt more. That was when and old story his mother had told him came to mind, and he shared it with her. After hearing the story of one who had learned courage, she had let him put on the band aid and the pain she felt left soon after. His shift hadn't started until nine at night and he'd wanted to get more sleep before he had to leave to work, but he didn't mind letting her stay. While she ate a snack she'd wanted to know where he'd learned the story. She'd asked so many questions he was starting to get annoyed but still answered patiently that he had learned it from his mother who had learned it from her mother and so on. Once she'd learned that it was an old Lakota story and that he was a quarter Lakota Sioux a million more questions arose. She wanted to know all of the other stories that he knew and about his tribe.
He remembered his mother. She was beautiful with long black hair and shining eyes. To him it seemed that she was always smiling, and he knew how much she'd loved him. He'd been Amanda's age when she died- right after his father had started drinking more and becoming violent. When he remembered his mother and all of her warmth he couldn't help but think of his grandparents back at the reservation in South Dakota. He had spent many happy summers there until his father decided that when he was thirteen he needed to get a job over summer vacation. The last time he had been there had been when he was sixteen- when he had saved enough money for a round-trip air ticket. He missed his life there.
When Amanda asked him those questions he didn't really have anything to tell. He was just some kid who was half Italian, a quarter Sioux and a quarter something else- Irish according to his grandmother. His mother had been half Lakota and raised on the reservation. Life there was different and she didn't know any better when she fell in love with the first decent guy that she met while living on her own in the big city for the first time.
He'd answered Amanda truthfully. "I don't really know what to tell you, I mean, what do you want to know?" When she asked about "his people" he didn't want to tell her that he didn't know because he hadn't cared about what his grandfather had rambled about and that no one in this world did. He knew about the massacre at Wounded Knee and many other atrocious injustices inflicted upon the Sioux people, but he couldn't tell an eight-year-old that. She'd probably learn about it in school, anyway. After receiving his response she'd dropped the subject, disinterested by his lack of interest. Her parents had eventually come home after being trapped in a jam-up for an hour and thanked him enthusiastically for looking after her. They were such nice people and he suddenly realized that he never behaved as "Malucci" in front of around them. He was Dave- he was himself. He didn't have to pretend- and he liked that.