Semiautomatic Mix Tape
Chapter V: Mary Without Sound
A/N: Proud owner of nothing. (Mary Without Sound -- Motion City Soundtrack.)
Mary go round
I'd like to see you when the summer sun sets down
Straight from the pages into memories that hang around
I can't believe that there is nowhere you can go and not be found without sound
I sat there at the kitchen table with a blank face. My mom was standing over at the sink cleaning the dishes. You could hear her sobbing every now and then. My dad was sitting down, glaring at me over the top of the morning paper. He picked up the mug and took a long loud sip from the cup before slamming it back down on the table. I folded my hands in my lap and sighed. My father folded the paper loudly and set it down. My mother gave me a sympathetic look before she hurried out of the kitchen.
"I have been doing some thinking." My father said, looking at me.
"Oh," I was trying to be casual. "About...?"
"What are you meaning by this 'about?' I am a-talking about you, my boy. And your little problem."
"Papa, I don't... I don't have a problem. It's just... it's who I am."
"Who I am." He said, mocking me. "I know who you are. You are not a-living here anymore."
There was a sudden crashing sound. I looked up to see my mother standing in the space between the kitchen and the living room holding only the handle to a mug. I instantly jumped up to help her, but with one look from my father I sat down. My father stood up and lumbered over to my mother. She cowered against the door frame. Again I stood up, and again I received a look (this time from my mother) telling me to sit down. They started arguing in Italian. Finally, I spoke up.
"Papa, papa please! I'm your son."
He laughed bitterly. "My son? No son of mine is a-gonna be a little pansy."
"But papa--"
"Don't 'but papa' me. Now here, I am a-working this honest job and I am a-wanting you to take over it. You cannot be a-running my business with-a your boyfriend."
"Not like I want to run it anyway..." I mumbled.
"Huh? What was that? Are you a-challenging me? After I have-a put up with you and-a your... problem." He spoke like I was diseased.
"I'm sorry, papa. But it's just... I had other plans."
"You are a-moving? Living in with your... your boyfriend?"
"I don't know... maybe."
"You are no son to me."
"You make it sound like a bad thing."
From the pages
Of the morning
When you mentioned
You're worth less to me
What happened next was something that I always feared would happen. When my father was mad... well, let's just say he got pretty angry. He would yell a lot, and he would throw some things. I was always scared he would hurt my mother. I didn't care what he did to me, but I wouldn't let him do anything to her. He raised his hand, obviously ready to strike me, when my mother ran over and grabbed him. I stood there in shock as her started yelling at her and waving his hands around. For the first time in any of there arguments, my mother yelled back. Sure, she would argue, but she had never yelled like this before. I was starting to regret not having learned Italian; it was difficult to make out what they were saying. My mother finally gave up-- or had she won? -- and left the room. My father turned to me, his eyes filled with rage.
"You," he pointed his finger at me.
"Yes, papa?" I looked up at him innocently.
"Don't you papa me! I am not a-raising some faggot!"
I sat there, speechless. It was one thing having to hear this from people at school, but it was different here. I knew he didn't understand what I was going through, but my mother said he was trying to understand, that it was difficult for him. I don't think it was difficult for him, my father knew what he was saying. He stood there looking smug, confident that he had just won against me and that I would just take the abuse and leave like he had wanted. I was going to leave without a fight, I had plenty of friends with extra room at their homes, but his comment made me change my mind. I stood up and moved so I was closer to him.
"Papa, I am your son, and I am not letting you talk to me like that."
"Is that so? I cannot talk-a to my faggot son?"
"Papa, I know what you're doing, and it's not working."
"It's not a-working, eh? Well let's see how to change that."
Hand over hand
The pages turn
The pages without sound
Turn on empty hands
Tonight will end without sound
I felt the worst pain that I could ever imagine. My eyes had started to tear up and the right side of my face had gotten pretty hot. I had a sudden taste of blood in my mouth and I could've sworn a few teeth felt loose. Slowly, I raised a hand to my face and carefully felt it. I swallowed more blood and looked up at my father, trying to focus on him. The fact that my eyes were still tearing made it difficult to see him, but his expression seemed to hold both hatred and sorrow. He reached out to touch me on the shoulder, but I pulled away from him. I walked out of the room and went into my own room, where I found a small duffel bag already packed. My mother, who had been sitting on my bed, ran up and hugged me.
"It's gonna be okay. You know your papa, it's hard for him to get."
"No, no it's not. He knows what he's doing."
"Your papa loves you."
"Ma," I picked up the bag and hefted it across my shoulder. "I'm gonna stay with a friend for a while. I'll call you soon, okay?"
"Alright... Stay safe, we love you."
I hugged my mother again and started out of the room. I wiped my eyes and the room slid into focus. My father was sitting at the table. He was staring down at his still curled fist and shaking his head in disbelief. I walked into the kitchen and headed for the door, not looking at him.
"My only son..." He mumbled. "Why am I a failure?"
I ignored him and kept walking. I pulled open the door when he called out to me.
"My son, you need-a to forgive me."
"I'm not your son anymore, papa."
I turned and walked out, slamming the door behind me. I gave the house one last, sad look before I left for good.
Mary go round
Hold back the hand me downs and bring back the bright sound
Head for the razor broken bottle hangman runarounds
Time for the message to return with the sender unsigned and without sound
The first pay phone I got to just happened to be outside of the mall. I looked around nervously; making sure no one I knew was around. I picked up the phone and just stared at it, too lost in thought to realize what was going on around me. I had been bashed before, in a park, at night, by a group of guys, but this time hurt more. And I don't mean physically, I meant emotionally. A friend of mine had told me his father beat him once and I had never understood his pain until now. Call me selfish for it, but I think my pain is worse. I mean, sure, this only happened to me once, but the fact that my father was beating me for something that we could work out and understand... I just didn't get it. I tried to clear away the thought as I inserted a few coins and dialed the one friend who had always helped me out.
"Hello?" A friend answered, but not the one I was hoping for.
"Oh, hi... What are you-- Nevermind, is she there?"
"Yeah man, I'll get her." I heard some laughing, and him telling her I was calling.
"Hi, I'm a little um... busy, but what's up?"
"I need you to come pick me up."
"Why," her tone got serious, "what's wrong?"
"Nothing... everything... it's my papa."
"Well where are you? We can come around in about ten minutes."
"Ten is fine, I'm at the mall. Thanks for doing this."
I hung up the phone and walked over to a bench. I set the bag down and lay down, using it as a makeshift pillow. I started replaying the scene with my father in my head. The look in his eyes was going to be one that would always be in my dreams. My thoughts were starting to change into old memories. It went from papa yelling at me, to student council elections, to the shooting, to kissing my boyfriend, to when I first realized that I was a little... different. And then it all went black for me.
It's a battle you can't win
It's a battle you lose
