This chapter may be a little short, but I think the next chapter really needs to be on it's own. So I'll let you read this and wonder what'll happen next. (Laughs evily). I'm actually really excited about writing the next chpater (Yes, I am a geek), so it will be out soon.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"I wanna know about dad."
Dylan looked up at me from the TV show he was watching. He didn't say anything. I sat down right in front of him, blocking his view. "I'm serious. I want to know what you're not telling me. And if you don't tell me, I'll go to Aunt Alicia."
He sighed and sat up to face me. "You don't want to know about this."
"Yes I do! Don't I have a right to know why I've never met the guy?"
He sighed again, then walked over to the TV and turned it off, and walked back to sit across from me. "You did know him, Paige. But he left a long time ago?"
"When?"
"My fifth birthday."
"I was two. Shouldn't I remember him?"
"Honestly? I don't think you'd want to."
"Dylan," I moaned. "Look, for years I've listened to you asking me not to ask about him, and why I don't have a dad on fathers day. I haven't bugged you about why all the other kids had dads who took them out and carried them on their shoulders, even if their parents were divorced. But now I don't have a mom. And I want to know why I can't have either of my parents!"
He nodded slowly. "What do you want to know?"
"Why do you hate him?"
He opened his mouth and closed it again several times before he finally spoke. "He wasn't always a bad guy. As far back as I can remember, he was always my friend, at least before you were born. Maybe I was just too young to notice. Mom said that he didn't change after you were born. I guess it was me."
"What did he do?"
"He would be a really good guy for weeks, months even. I remember he and mom were really, really happy. But then something bad would happen. And he'd start drinking. A lot. He'd stay out late, make mom cry. He'd yell at mom, yell at me, then pass out on the couch. He did it for weeks at a time. Then he'd come home one night, all smiles, say that he promised it would never happen again, that he'd straightened out, and be the good guy again. Until the next time."
"How do you remember all this?"
"Mom and I talked about this. Not that long ago. I wanted to remember everything."
"Why'd he leave?"
"Mom found out that the entire time, he was having one affair after another. And then one of his girlfriends got pregnant. So he came home drunk on my fifth birthday, and yelled at me, and yelled at mom, and packed his bags and left. He told her that his girlfriend was pregnant. He told her about all the affairs. She said she begged him to stay."
"Do you remember her doing it?"
"I remember her being upset after. And I was mad at him for making her upset. And then as I got older and I understood that he wasn't coming back, I just started to hate him more and more."
"Did you ever talk to him again?"
He sighed. "Once. I came out of school when I was. . . I guess I was ten. He wanted to see you. Even then I remembered how much I hated him, and how much I didn't want him in your life. And I guess that's when I decided that I'd never let you meet him."
"You didn't think that I might ask about him?"
"I knew you would. I just hadn't thought that far ahead. I guess after you saw the album. . . I had to tell you."
"Why couldn't you just tell me the truth?"
"I thought you were better off not knowing."
"Why do you get to decide that?! It's not your life!"
"I know, Paige," he said calmly, despite the fact that I was raising my voice. "Maybe it wasn't fair. But it's done. And you know. Can we just leave it at that?"
I was upset. What gave him the right to control my life? "Whatever. I've got homework. I'll be in my room if you need me."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"I can't believe it," Ashley said the next day when I told her about Dylan and my dad. "He never told you?"
"Nothing. When I was younger, he used to tell me that it upset my mom to talk about it. The only person it seems to upset is Dylan."
"It wasn't fair, I agree with you on that, but maybe it was hard for him to. I mean, he had to see what this did to your mom when he was five. Maybe it's harder because he knew your dad."
"Maybe he was just making a big deal out of nothing."
"Do you really think Dylan would do something like that?"
"No," I admitted, "but it still makes me really mad. I never got to make the decision."
I looked over at the clock. The bell was about to ring, and our spare would be over. I had to go to math, and I really wasn't in the mood for it.
"Why don't you talk to him about it? Tell him?"
I shrugged. Ever since I'd found him crying, things had been strange between us. I couldn't understand him at all. He seemed to be totally unaffected by the entire thing. I found myself questioning wether he had actually been crying, or I was imagining things.
"Things are weird with Dylan right now," I finally admitted. "I guess I should just let things blow over first."
"It's not a bad idea. But he's dealing with this too. Things can't be easy for him either."
"I guess." The bell rang, and the hallway filled with people. We stood up, I got my books out of my locker, and I went to math class.
God, school sucked.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
That night, I once again found myself on the steps of the community centre where the meeting was going to be held, but couldn't bring myself to go in. The past two meetings had been boring, and had left me feeling worse than before. I turned to leave, and found myself face to face with Nicholas. He looked surprised to see me.
"Hi," he finally said.
I couldn't help but smile. "Hi." We fell into our familiar pattern of watching each other, his eyes boring into mine, saying more than words ever could.
"Are you going in?" He finally asked.
"I don't think so."
"They don't understand you either, huh?"
I nodded. "I don't understand them. For them it seems like some kind of bonding experience, like summer camp."
He smiled. I had only seen him smile once before, and that was bittersweet. This time it was genuine, almost a grin. And he had one of those perfect smiles- his face was round, a baby-faced, but when he smiled, everything seemed to even out. He had while teeth and dimples. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but yeah, summer camp sounds like it. Everyone just wants to hug and sing songs in there."
I nodded. "I guess they've been through the same thing we have, but. . . it still doesn't mean that they understand." I couldn't believe that I was saying all this to a guy who's name I barely knew.
"But you understand."
I studied him for a minute. He was no longer smiling, his expression thoughtful. "I understand what?"
"Me."
I was surprised by his words, but didn't disagree. I did understand him. He understood me.
"So why did you come," he asked.
"I guess I was hoping that someone who understood would come along."
He smiled again. "Why don't you skip the meeting? Come have a coffee with me?"
I was shocked by his invitation, but after carefully considering his words, decided that he meant nothing more than a cup of coffee. We could talk. It would be better than listening to all those others who had no idea what I was going through. I thought of being alone in my house, piles of homework in front of me. I thought of the coffee.
And despite every voice in my head screaming against it, I found myself saying yes.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"I wanna know about dad."
Dylan looked up at me from the TV show he was watching. He didn't say anything. I sat down right in front of him, blocking his view. "I'm serious. I want to know what you're not telling me. And if you don't tell me, I'll go to Aunt Alicia."
He sighed and sat up to face me. "You don't want to know about this."
"Yes I do! Don't I have a right to know why I've never met the guy?"
He sighed again, then walked over to the TV and turned it off, and walked back to sit across from me. "You did know him, Paige. But he left a long time ago?"
"When?"
"My fifth birthday."
"I was two. Shouldn't I remember him?"
"Honestly? I don't think you'd want to."
"Dylan," I moaned. "Look, for years I've listened to you asking me not to ask about him, and why I don't have a dad on fathers day. I haven't bugged you about why all the other kids had dads who took them out and carried them on their shoulders, even if their parents were divorced. But now I don't have a mom. And I want to know why I can't have either of my parents!"
He nodded slowly. "What do you want to know?"
"Why do you hate him?"
He opened his mouth and closed it again several times before he finally spoke. "He wasn't always a bad guy. As far back as I can remember, he was always my friend, at least before you were born. Maybe I was just too young to notice. Mom said that he didn't change after you were born. I guess it was me."
"What did he do?"
"He would be a really good guy for weeks, months even. I remember he and mom were really, really happy. But then something bad would happen. And he'd start drinking. A lot. He'd stay out late, make mom cry. He'd yell at mom, yell at me, then pass out on the couch. He did it for weeks at a time. Then he'd come home one night, all smiles, say that he promised it would never happen again, that he'd straightened out, and be the good guy again. Until the next time."
"How do you remember all this?"
"Mom and I talked about this. Not that long ago. I wanted to remember everything."
"Why'd he leave?"
"Mom found out that the entire time, he was having one affair after another. And then one of his girlfriends got pregnant. So he came home drunk on my fifth birthday, and yelled at me, and yelled at mom, and packed his bags and left. He told her that his girlfriend was pregnant. He told her about all the affairs. She said she begged him to stay."
"Do you remember her doing it?"
"I remember her being upset after. And I was mad at him for making her upset. And then as I got older and I understood that he wasn't coming back, I just started to hate him more and more."
"Did you ever talk to him again?"
He sighed. "Once. I came out of school when I was. . . I guess I was ten. He wanted to see you. Even then I remembered how much I hated him, and how much I didn't want him in your life. And I guess that's when I decided that I'd never let you meet him."
"You didn't think that I might ask about him?"
"I knew you would. I just hadn't thought that far ahead. I guess after you saw the album. . . I had to tell you."
"Why couldn't you just tell me the truth?"
"I thought you were better off not knowing."
"Why do you get to decide that?! It's not your life!"
"I know, Paige," he said calmly, despite the fact that I was raising my voice. "Maybe it wasn't fair. But it's done. And you know. Can we just leave it at that?"
I was upset. What gave him the right to control my life? "Whatever. I've got homework. I'll be in my room if you need me."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"I can't believe it," Ashley said the next day when I told her about Dylan and my dad. "He never told you?"
"Nothing. When I was younger, he used to tell me that it upset my mom to talk about it. The only person it seems to upset is Dylan."
"It wasn't fair, I agree with you on that, but maybe it was hard for him to. I mean, he had to see what this did to your mom when he was five. Maybe it's harder because he knew your dad."
"Maybe he was just making a big deal out of nothing."
"Do you really think Dylan would do something like that?"
"No," I admitted, "but it still makes me really mad. I never got to make the decision."
I looked over at the clock. The bell was about to ring, and our spare would be over. I had to go to math, and I really wasn't in the mood for it.
"Why don't you talk to him about it? Tell him?"
I shrugged. Ever since I'd found him crying, things had been strange between us. I couldn't understand him at all. He seemed to be totally unaffected by the entire thing. I found myself questioning wether he had actually been crying, or I was imagining things.
"Things are weird with Dylan right now," I finally admitted. "I guess I should just let things blow over first."
"It's not a bad idea. But he's dealing with this too. Things can't be easy for him either."
"I guess." The bell rang, and the hallway filled with people. We stood up, I got my books out of my locker, and I went to math class.
God, school sucked.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
That night, I once again found myself on the steps of the community centre where the meeting was going to be held, but couldn't bring myself to go in. The past two meetings had been boring, and had left me feeling worse than before. I turned to leave, and found myself face to face with Nicholas. He looked surprised to see me.
"Hi," he finally said.
I couldn't help but smile. "Hi." We fell into our familiar pattern of watching each other, his eyes boring into mine, saying more than words ever could.
"Are you going in?" He finally asked.
"I don't think so."
"They don't understand you either, huh?"
I nodded. "I don't understand them. For them it seems like some kind of bonding experience, like summer camp."
He smiled. I had only seen him smile once before, and that was bittersweet. This time it was genuine, almost a grin. And he had one of those perfect smiles- his face was round, a baby-faced, but when he smiled, everything seemed to even out. He had while teeth and dimples. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but yeah, summer camp sounds like it. Everyone just wants to hug and sing songs in there."
I nodded. "I guess they've been through the same thing we have, but. . . it still doesn't mean that they understand." I couldn't believe that I was saying all this to a guy who's name I barely knew.
"But you understand."
I studied him for a minute. He was no longer smiling, his expression thoughtful. "I understand what?"
"Me."
I was surprised by his words, but didn't disagree. I did understand him. He understood me.
"So why did you come," he asked.
"I guess I was hoping that someone who understood would come along."
He smiled again. "Why don't you skip the meeting? Come have a coffee with me?"
I was shocked by his invitation, but after carefully considering his words, decided that he meant nothing more than a cup of coffee. We could talk. It would be better than listening to all those others who had no idea what I was going through. I thought of being alone in my house, piles of homework in front of me. I thought of the coffee.
And despite every voice in my head screaming against it, I found myself saying yes.
