Emotions run riot and a father and son confront each other once again
John sat at the wooden table that was situated in the middle of the kitchen, staring dumbly at the wedding band fused on his finger. The sound of padded feet shuffling behind cased him to turn his head. It was his small daughter, who had frozen at the mere sight of him.
The events of the previous day had caused her trauma and witnessing her father's drunken violence against her eldest brother, only made matters worse. Chrissie always bore an adorable appearance, mornings in particular as her hair had a tendency to be wild and fluffy. The little girl stood in silence, clutching her beloved companion Goober under her arm. She was dressed in one of her brother's old flannel t-shirt since she had wet herself the night before, the material was extremely baggy and it slipped at the shoulders, exposing the bare skin. It was a wonder she didn't trip up as it was oversized compared to her tiny, skinny frame.
"Good morning," said John gingerly, a flicker of a hopeful smile. "Did you sleep well?"
Chrissie didn't respond, her eyes blank. The five year old toddled past, ignoring her father as she ventured towards the refrigerator. She pulled out a large carton of orange juice and placed it on the worktop carefully. John watched her attempt at reaching up for the cabinet which involved her afterwards, trying to climb up onto the worktop. John pushed himself to intervene.
"Lemme get that for you, baby," said John, in endeavour to be as gentle as possible. He reached and grabbed a tumbler which he poured the orange citrus liquid into. Handing it to his daughter, his voice gruff from his alcoholic binge, he said in addition "Here."
The child hugged her teddy bear tightly under her skinny arm, glancing at it for reassurance. She took the tumbler and drained it completely within several seconds. Without meeting his gaze, Chrissie shoved it back into his hands. Sadly, John knew his actions last night must have broken the somewhat limited bond he had with his only daughter. Swallowing his repressed emotions as if it were a golf ball, the ex marine levelled himself with his little girl.
"Chrissie," he began. "I'm sorry for what you saw last night. Daddy was just upset about your accident."
His words were falling on deaf ears. Chrissie, although young, saw right into her father's mind. She knew her cherished eldest brother was getting the blame and since it made her father cross, her brother received a punishment. People who do bad things must get punished, a logic she had been raised on ever since she learned how to walk and talk. John could see a pout protruding on the child's lips.
"Sweetheart…please, look at me" pleaded John, desperate for his child to reply to him.
He reached out for contact and as soon as his fingers grazed her arm, the five year old let out a petrified squeak as she recoiled from his touch. With her teddy bear comrade in the crook of her arm, Chrissie fled the kitchen and bolted up the stairs, soft whimpers quivering from her larynx. John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head gloomily. His own daughter was scared of him.
Just as Dean was zipping the fly on his jeans, he was startled by the bedroom door swinging open and to see his little sister charging in. The seventeen year old almost lost his balance as Chrissie tackled his legs at full force.
"Whoa, kiddo, slow down. You about knocked me over," he chuckled. His brow then furrowed as he noticed the tears rolling down her angelic freckled face. He crouched down on his haunches once he wriggled out of her koala grasp, hands cupping her cheeks in a consoling manner. "Sweetheart, what wrong? Why are you crying?"
The little girl strangled out a terrified sob as she gripped onto her bear. Her green eyes leaked a fountain worth of salty moisture as she gazed at her brother.
"I scared" she wept, bottom lip trembling.
Her brother gazed at her with a deep sense of sorrow as he swatted at the tears that glided down his baby sister's face.
"Why?" queried the teenager, an expression of deep concern etched on his features.
"Daddy" replied Chrissie before letting out a barrage of sobs that racked her frame.
The seventeen year old pulled the heartbroken child into his bare chest and held her in an warm and secure embrace, rubbing her back soothingly as she cried in his arms. The distraught little girl was then scooped up as her brother moved over to the bed, and was then perched on his knee. A tiny hand traced the black eye that the teen was now sporting as a fashion accessory, a gift token from their father.
"Why did Daddy hit you?" sniffed Chrissie innocently.
"You don't need to worry about that, baby," answered her brother, smoothing her hair. "He had been drinking beer again. Daddy get's cross when he's been drinking. He was also upset about the scare you gave us."
Chrissie wiped her nose on the sleeve of the baggy t-shirt, thinking about the previous day's incident. Her red rimmed eyes brimming with unshed teardrops.
"Did I scare you?" asked Chrissie.
"Yeah, you did," commented the teenager truthfully. "But your safe now, and that's all that matters. Nothing is gonna steal you away from me. Who else will draw me pictures and wake me up in the mornings?"
Chrissie paused for a second, contemplating on her brother's statement, until she realised it was her he was talking about. She bowed her head as the wobbling pout returned.
"Hey, it's okay," assured Dean, begging for the tears to stop. "C'mon now, your breakin' my heart."
Fresh tears flowed down the five year old's cheeks, abrupt hiccups caused her to jerk.
"I sorry, Deanie," wept the little girl through hiccups. "I sorry I scared you. I no mean to. The ball runned away and I wanted it back. It fall in water, then I fall in water. I sorry. I sorry. I no mean to break you heart. I sorry."
Closing his eyes in a bid to shut out the heart aching wails of his baby sister, Dean could only rock her on his knee.
"Ssssssh," he hushed comfortingly. "It was an accident. A bad accident. You have nothing to apologise for, sweetheart."
The siblings continued to embrace, and at that moment they were joined by the middle sibling, clean from the shower. Sam raised a worried eyebrow at his older brother, indicating the weeping youngster. Dean only offered a broken smile.
"Hey, Chrissie," said the younger teenager, gently. "Goober told me he would like a tea party. He's invited me and you to join him. Wanna go?"
The brothers waited for the child to respond. Chrissie glanced at her stuffed friend, then to Sam. With an eager head nod, Goober received a positive reply.
"C'mon then, let's get ready" Sam smiled slightly as Chrissie hopped off the eldest's knee and grasped his hand.
Nobody could attend Goober's tea parties dressed like a scruffy street urchin. Chrissie's hair had been tied into lopsided bunches with mini scrunches and was wearing her Elmo t-shirt and spotty leggings. As she and Sam sat on the carpet of the bedroom, Chrissie curled her sock clad toes as pretend cakes and cookies were passed around.
"Oh no!," declared Chrissie in horror, hands moving to her mouth in a comical fashion. "Goober! You got a worm sandwich! You can't eat worms. That's yucky!"
Sam stifled a laugh as his sister expressed her enthusiastic imagination. The giggles that filtered through the air compared to the sobs from before were much more soothing.
"You need more tea, Sammy" commented Chrissie, pouring out an imaginary cup of tea.
The thirteen year old smiled. Hopefully things were looking up, even though he knew the repercussions of the day before will lurk around for sometime.
John hadn't moved from the kitchen all morning, he needed time to review the situation he had dumped himself into. It was only when a stone jawed Dean wandered in, that John found the courage to confront him.
"Listen, son, about yesterday" started John.
He was cut off by his eldest who turned on him, anger blazing in his green eyes.
"Save it, Dad," snapped Dean. "You said enough yesterday. Hell, you near enough knocked my block off. I can't believe you got drunk last night! Seriously, what the hell! Your daughter needed you! Sam needed you!…"
John had risen from his chair and had wandered over towards his agitated son. The black eye haunted him.
"…I needed you."
Dean's voice cracked on the last statement, he inhaled hard as he battled with his bubbling emotions. The teen shook his head and licked his dry lips. He continued:
"I can't believe how selfish you are. For five years I have devoted every single scrap of energy I have into raising your daughter. And what's the thanks I get? A damn shiner! I know that kid inside out, I bet you don't even know her favourite color! And you know the worst part, now she's afraid of you! I sacrifice so much for this family and one tiny mistake lands me a beating. What's the logic in that, huh?"
John was torn by his eldest's words but he knew it was necessary. Remorse filled his dark eyes. His hand reached out for his son's face but the youth smacked it away.
"Son, let me explain" pleaded John.
"Explain what exactly? How you're a controlling asshole who thinks that alcohol washes away all your problems. Well it doesn't. Where were you the first Christmas without Mom, huh? You were out getting wasted, forgetting the fact that you left three kids alone in a rundown motel in the bad part of town. What would she think about you now? Maybe it would've been best if social service took us away years ago. We wouldn't have been stuck with you."
His boy was right, alcohol was his way of trying to forget everything that had happened within the past five years. Yet John knew he had left his family morals and values in the shadows and had replaced them with strict rules and gruelling guidelines. Like vomit the torrent of words continued to erupt from the seventeen year old's mouth. Distress riddling his voice:
"I protect those two with every fibre in my body. I would take a freakin' bullet for them. No matter how hard I try, I know for a fact the truth is gonna come out one day. Till the day I die I'm gonna shield those kids from anything dangerous. And if that includes you then so be it."
John could feel his soul blackening on those words. He had slammed the final nail in the coffin and he hoped that there was a way in revitalizing his relationships with his children. Sorrowful eyes gazed into his son.
"Don't think for one damn second that I don't fight for this family. That's all I do. It's all I'll ever do. I do so much and all I ask is for a little gratitude, and after everything that has happened, I get nothing, and do you know how that makes me feel? It makes me.…"
The youth paused and took a shaking breathe yet it did not eliminate the waver in his voice. He balled a fist and held it at his mouth for a second before letting it drop and uttering:
"It makes me feel on top of the world."
A lone tear streaked down the seventeen year old's face, his lips quaking with emotion. Tears also welled in John's eyes, his hand curled around the base of his son's neck. He pressed his forehead against his boy's.
"I'm so sorry" whispered John.
Two figures watched from between the gaps in the banister. Sam smiled tearfully as he witnessed the unfolding event. Chrissie snuggled into his side and glanced curiously.
"Are Daddy and Dean fighting again?" queried the five year old, her tone worried.
"No, Chrissie," replied her middle sibling. "There not fighting."
What do you think of John and Dean's confrontation conclusion?
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