Chapter Twelve: A Father's Disappointment
December 15, 1979
I made it to freshman year of high school. Eighth grade was a disaster, especially after that incident with Mr. Hendell, in the girls bathroom. "Michael! Get your ass up!" Jeff's voice echoed through the house. As I descended the stairs, there he was, sitting on the couch, sipping his scotch. That bastard, drinking scotch when he had a congregation meeting in an hour. But hey, he had pulled off worse in the past.
"You know, you're just like your useless sorry excuse of a father. You two are two damn peas in a pod," Jeff sneered, his words dripping with contempt. "You're probably gonna be sent to country jail too in a few years."
I couldn't hold my tongue any longer. "Don't ever talk about my father, Mr. Jeffrey," I spat out, my voice laced with anger and defiance.
"Oh, we're being formal now, Michael. Michael Ruthford, that's all you'll ever be to me, John Ruthford's bastard son," Jeff taunted.
As I prepared myself for another day at school, I felt an overwhelming sense of frustration building within me. The sound of Mr. Clarkson repeating the same thing in chemistry class became too much to bear. That's when I made my decision. "Can I go to the bathroom?" I asked Mr. Clark, my voice trembling.
"Just grab the pass," he replied nonchalantly.
As soon as I left the classroom, I ran. I ran as if my life depended on it, all the way out of school. I had reached my limit with that moron of a teacher at this point. I made my way to the train rail station, perhaps stopping for a hot dog along the way. I entered the station, trying to keep a low profile since I didn't have a ticket. I had to see my father. I needed to know why he did what he did.
After two days of train riding, I arrived in Scottsdale. If my memory served me right, my father's new house was located at 1245 DC Ranch. I stood at the front door, nerves coursing through my veins. And then I saw him again, my father.
"Dad," I whispered, my voice filled with a mix of longing and confusion.
"I'm sorry," I began to say, but before I could utter another word, I heard a voice. "John, did you get Wayne up by the nursery yet?" The voice belonged to a woman, holding a baby in her arms. It was the same woman who then leaned in to kiss my father. He had another son. I couldn't believe it.
"Wait a minute," my father said to his wife, his eyes searching mine. "What did you want to say?"
"Umm, never mind. I don't need anything," I muttered, my heart sinking. With a heavy heart, I ran out of the house. My father wasn't anything like I had imagined him to be. Maybe, just maybe, Jeff was right about him for once. At least he was right about something.
As I finally stepped inside the house, a voice pierced the air. "Where the hell have you been, boy?!" Jeff's voice resonated with anger and frustration. I wanted to tell him, to tell Jeff that he was right about my father. But before I could utter a word, he cut me off.
"You're goddamn right I was right, Michael! And you're gonna pay for it. I haven't seen you in two damn days, you flunkey!" Jeff's rage manifested in the destructive chaos he unleashed upon the house, smashing household items with reckless abandon. As he approached me; he began hitting me over and over, as I was trying to block.
"You son of a bitch!" I heard Jeff. As he kept on punching me.
Confusion filled the air as my mother turned to me, her voice laced with worry. "What is going on, Michael? We were worried sick. Where were you?"
"If he wants to go so badly, why doesn't he just fucking leave? Walk out the door right damn now!" Jeff's words dripped with venom. "He's got Ruthford blood all over him, and you know it, Ruth!"
"What?" my mother uttered, her voice trembling with disbelief.
"You heard me, his Judgement Day will come soon, with him standing on trial alongside his father!" Jeff's outburst continued, fueled by anger and resentment, as he continued to hurl objects across the room.
"I'll leave, Jeff," I said quietly, my voice filled with a mix of determination and defiance.
"And I'll tell the whole damn congregation who you really are," I added, finding a newfound courage within me.
"They'll never believe you," Jeff scoffed, his voice dripping with arrogance.
"Jeff, you don't really need to kick him out," my mother pleaded, her voice filled with desperation.
"Silence, Ruth! He needs to go, or we'll get dragged along with him," Jeff bellowed, his words final and resolute.
As I walked away, I took one last glance at the house, the place that was meant to be a sanctuary but had become a battleground of broken dreams from an asshole stepdad. With a heavy heart, I left the neighborhood, stepping into the unknown. I knew from that moment on, I was on my own.