visions inink

So many poems about relationships
speak of pieces of the heart being stolen.
They declare how we cannot feel anymore,
and how we refuse to love again. 

They write about our souls and how
bits of that ghostly essence are drained away.
Even death is a conquering force, it comes
like a thief and removes spirit from body.

There is always the shifting of blame, 
Someone else used us like trash, it is
certainly not our faults that we allowed trust
and pieces of ourselves to be taken from us.

It makes it easier to live with the reality
that bit by precious bit we give our self-worth away.  

The Sanctuary’s Peace

When someone pounded on my door at an ungodly hour of the morning, I wished that I could take back all of my oaths to the Nocuri. In the eight years since I’d joined them, I could never get them to understand that Caledon Dawnblade just did not arise before the hour of nine bells. They didn’t care one bit about my sense of the proper time to conduct business. I guess I couldn’t blame them. They were a proper lot, doing proper business in the daytime, and I was a young whelp of a warrior who pretended to be honorable in the daylight, and conducted business in the trade of information in secret throughout the long hours of the night. They had been that way since the beginning, really. It was officially the Third War of the Elves. My people, the best elves, called it the Clash of the Heavenly Bodies. Litessa only knows why they gave it such a pompous name, though. Everyone else calls it “The War”, the greatest conflict to arise between elvenkind since anyone could remember. It ended in a room with politicians, with my father and several other old-as-dirt elves signing a peace treaty and a compromise in the form of the great Sanctuary of Kardas and The Seven, the ruling council that dwelt within.

In theory, of course. My father may have been able to prevent me from joining the war effort while I was young, but he couldn’t prevent me from joining the Nocuri, protectors of the Sanctuary’s peace. The city was supposed to be a “bastion of hope and peace rising from the ashes of a once mighty civilization.” The sweetness of it all disgusted me. As if a sanctuary could be created overnight! I jumped at the opportunity to gain favor and power, regardless. True to my first thought, here I am eight years later, still trying to put down the ring of crime that festers in the underbelly of the city. Our methods until now have been to make extreme examples of the criminals that we catch, in order to serve as a deterrent. This works for the rogue criminals, but not for the organized crime that exists. Something has to change. Fortunately, from my meeting last night with the Seven and my superiors in the Nocuri, they agree with me.

That brings me back to the incessant, annoying pounding on my door at this ridiculous hour of the morning. Yes, it gave me the fleeting thought that I’d like to reconsider, but the truth was there was nothing I was more suited for. The noise from the door cleared my sleep-addled brain, and I finally stumbled out of bed to answer the door, remembering to wrap a robe around my naked self. Once in the hallway, I shouted, “Who is it!” in a voice still roughened from sleep.

“It’s Ratzel, Cale. Come on, open up!” a masculine voice called from the other side of the sturdy hardwood. Ratzel Lightfoot was newer to the Nocuri than I was, and I was supposed to be teaching him the “ropes” so to speak. We had an easy friendship, but sometimes I despised the way he could be so damn cheerful. I also despised the way he was always smiling.

I let the door swing wide open, and stepped back, grumbling the entire way. “I am sure the prisoner could have waited until a more reasonable hour to be interrogated, Ratzel. I told you at least nine bells.” I was unwilling to let the matter of how early it was go quite yet. I expected him to follow me and talk to me from the hallway, so I pulled the door to my bedroom halfway closed and tossed the robe onto my bed. Being a Netai nobleman, I had a need to be dressed impeccably for whatever I was doing, especially the part of a Nocuri warrior in front of prisoners I was about to intimidate. I dressed in black leather right down to my boots. “Did you at least remember to keep the elf up all night?” I called through the door as I pulled a dark gray tunic over my head and belted it in place.

 “Of course. I’m hardly incompetent,” Ratzel replied, “Not like your last apprentice.”

Ratzel spent so much time reminding me that he wasn’t like my last apprentice that it was really irritating. I wondered whether the man actually believed in his own ability. “You don’t seem to be attempting to sleep with me either,” I quipped, as I tied back my unruly light blonde hair with a leather band, “It was rather cliché of her, don’t you think?” I made a note to break him of the insufferable habit of bringing up the past later, but not today. I looked in the mirror as I strapped my dagger and sword to my belt.

“Shame you had to put her down, I heard she was lovely,” Ratzel responded casually. I laughed softly at the memory, and at his words. The truth was Ratzel was still as green as they came, all talk. He probably would have let her go with some nonsense about never showing her face around these parts again. Soft. Still, he had potential. I sauntered out into the hallway and grabbed both of my dirks from the table in the hallway, sliding one into my boot, and the other into my sleeve. “Look at you! All bright eyed at this hour of the morning at last!” Ratzel exclaimed as I emerged from my room. “One would hardly recognize you from a few moments ago!”

“Alright, enough out of you,” I muttered as I rolled my eyes and punched him in the shoulder.  I eyed Ratzel up and down. His dress was almost a mirror of my own, except that his tunic was dark blue, and his clothes and armor were sloppy. I didn’t really like the fact that his clothes were unkempt. If he was going to be my apprentice, then he’d be well dressed.

Orders from the council were always long winded and drawn out to the point of exhaustion on all accounts. They kept everyone in that damnable room for hours on end, and the briefing I experienced last night was no exception. The worst part though was that they could always be pared down into the simplest terms. Interrogate, apprehend, and educate. These orders were all related to the elf that my warriors had captured in the streets. His name was Glaith Sliversan and I had him for the rape and murder of the son of one of the Council members. Two of my fellow commanders were sure he was the ringleader of a string of crimes, but I was positive that he was a pawn, so I was to interrogate, and apprehend the real mastermind behind the seedy dealings of the Sanctuary’s underbelly.

The best part of interrogation for me was the fact that the Nocuri and the Seven had always given me free reign to do whatever I wanted in order to get what I needed. Use any means necessary. That was the official term for what I did, and that was the current way of enforcing Kardas’ extremely fragile “peace”. I was quite fond of stringing up the evidence of my work at the city gates. I was about to educate Ratzel in the same practice, my first opportunity since the smiling fool started following me around. I didn’t want to waste the opportunity. He was eager to learn, and I was quite eager to learn my next target of my wrath. I wanted to create a Kardas where the Netai could walk around with no fear…a true sanctuary. Oh, and I suppose all of those other elvish races would benefit as well.

Ratzel and I strode with purpose toward the building where I was holding the Ishen elf. I was extremely grateful that Ratzel was a Netaian elf whose stride matched mine. Though I think if I had been paired with any other race as an apprentice, I would have made up an excuse to kill them, just on principle. I feel like the Nocuri council was aware of that, as well. The room we kept Sliversan in had a low ceiling with stone walls and wood floors. The only pieces of furniture I needed were a high-backed hard metal chair and table, both of which sat in the middle of the room. As I sauntered into the room, I could see the lanky, dirty, naked elf tied up and lying against the far wall, flanked by two Nocuri guards. They jabbed him with the ends of their staves to keep him from sleeping for more than a few minutes at a time, and I knew that had been going on for over thirty-six hours. As I stepped forward, the well-trained guards yanked Sliversan to his feet by the leather cords binding him.

Feeling refreshed at the prospective task at hand, and practically gleeful, all traces of my earlier surliness had disappeared, “Good morning, Tannin, Braithe,” I nodded toward each of the guards in turn, “And Glaith, so good to see you again my friend.” I briefly rubbed my hands together excitedly, and motioned Ratzel further into the room.

“Can’t say the same, Dawnblade,” the dirty elf sneered, a wide smile crossing his face. “Come to kill me and string me up at last? Like the others?”

I smiled broadly in response to the accusation, and nodded toward the chair in the middle of the room. The two warrior-guards yanked the prisoner forward and settled him into the chair, binding him to it with leather cords. “Just around the legs and waist this time,” I commanded as Ratzel and I settled against opposite walls and watched them work. “Ah, Glaith,” I mused, studying the criminal for a moment, “Of course I am going to string you up like the others. That is the way we keep the peace after all. Isn’t it?”

Glaith scoffed at me, and it was honestly all I could do to keep my composure and not burst into laughter at him. He spat out, “If you think killing us off one by one will do it, you’ve no…” and if suddenly realizing what he was saying, his eyes widened and he shut his mouth with a snap. Damn, I almost had him.

I responded, “I tell you what, Glaith Sliversan. I’m feeling particularly merciful today. If you tell me everything you know, including who you really work for, I will let you live.” I paused and watched the offer sink in, and then continued. “You see, I’d like nothing more than to display all of my skills on you. I’ve got an apprentice now. You know Ratzel Lightfoot?” I waved vaguely towards Ratzel, who bowed his head slightly, expressionless.

“We’ve met,” the elf growled, “Last night.”

“Glad to hear it!” I exclaimed, “Now, consider my offer. Your life for information, perhaps a short stint in the holding cells here, your boss takes the fall for all of your crimes, and then your freedom once more! You could be out on the streets again in no time. Far from the Sanctuary, of course.” I didn’t think I could actually convince him that I would let him get away. I hoped it would be easy and he would give up all he knew in exchange for his life. However, part of me really wanted to torture it out of him. It was probably the sadistic part of me that knew no matter which way Glaith Sliversan chose to give up his information there was no way he was leaving this cell alive. I knew it, Ratzel knew it, and the two guards that had been poking and prodding at the elf all night knew it as well. No one ever left one of my interrogations alive.

I watched as flickers of emotion spread across Sliversan’s face. His expression changed from gleeful to angry to calm and collected over a span of a few moments. I often wondered what sort of thoughts went through the minds of the elves I interrogated as they sorted out how to respond. Finally he spat out, “You’re a liar, Dawnblade. I’m a dead man regardless. I’ll tell you nothing.”

I smiled and stepped forward, nodding to Ratzel and to Tannin. “Are you a fan of the sea, Glaith?” I asked, pulling out my bag of tools. Tannin left the room, and Ratzel stepped forward to help Braithe hold the elf down.

“Can’t say that I spend much time at the sea. What’s your point?” I could see him tense in anticipation of what was to come. The thought amused me, no matter how much they braced themselves, they always jerked away from the pain.

“I love the sea,” I began, pulling a short flail with barbed tips from my things. “I love the smell of the air, the sound of the waves, and the fishing. But I especially love the salty water. Do you know why?” I asked, coming up behind the naked prisoner and preparing my first swing at his exposed back. Braithe and Ratzel stretched him out across the table by his arms.

He grunted in response, clearly determined not to play any games with me. That was no matter; I could talk and work at the same time. “The salt water causes delicious pain when applied to wounds,” I explained calmly, while bringing the flail down hard across his shoulders. It left seven perfect stinging, bleeding welts across his skin. Both he and Ratzel flinched, and I glared at Ratzel. As if I would miss and hit him, honestly. I swung and hit the prisoner again and again, until Tannin returned with seawater, and Glaith was jerking solidly away from my hits, his back a mess of bloody cuts. “Oh dear,” I said softly, surveying my work. “All this blood will simply have to be washed off. Fortunately Tannin brought me some water.”

With Braithe and Ratzel still holding the prisoner down, Tannin and I poured some of the water over his back, bringing the first scream from his lips. It was music to my ears. “Ah, yes. That’s what I was waiting to hear,” I said. We poured until the blood was mostly washed away, the elf screaming all the while, and attempting to jerk away from us, but the men held him fast. I pulled out an old ragged tunic and soaked it in the water. I tied it tightly around the elf’s wounds. “You sure you don’t want to tell me what I want to hear, Sliversan? I can end this torment for you; it only gets worse from here.”

He spat at me in response, and I laughed. “Suit yourself. I don’t know why you feel the need to protect anyone with your life. It isn’t like they can kill you twice. All you will do is prolong your life, and I can keep you alive for a very, very long time. We better close up those wounds on your back though, wouldn’t want you to bleed to death. Ratzel, bring me that torch over there, Tannin you can take his place holding him down.” I pulled out both of my dirks and held them over the torch that Ratzel brought. Pulling the wet tunic aside I surveyed the damage to Sliversan’s back. When the metal of my blades was red-hot I pressed them into his flesh, cauterizing his wounds and burning any unbroken flesh. He screamed like a child and tried to twist away from me, but the two guards were stronger than his weakened state. “Just tell me who your master is and I’ll give you a quick death,” I stated again while waiting for the dirks to heat up again.

Just as I was about to press the glowing metal to his skin again, Sliversan hollered out, “Wait!” and then whispered, “I’ll tell you everything.” I sighed, upset that my fun was over already. “Send everyone else out,” he continued, and I raised an eyebrow at this request, but motioned the guards out. It wasn’t as if the battered elf could overpower me in his state.

When the door shut behind them, I turned to the elf and said, “Well?”

A low, rasping chuckle escaped him, and I frowned. Why was he laughing in my moment of glory? “You’re a fool, Dawnblade. You’ve been wasting all this time…” He paused to cough and I glared at him, resisting the urge to plant my foot in his ribs. He continued after he caught his breath, “I should have just let them all in on your secret, but I’ll do you this one favor. For peace.”

“Since when do you care about peace?” I scoffed, tucking my now-cold blades back into their sheaths. “Ishen don’t care about anyone but themselves.”

“You’re probably right. But it’ll be worth it to see the look on your face when I tell you this,” he explained, and I raised an eyebrow at him in confusion. “The elf running the ‘underbelly’ of Kardas is Orialion Dawnblade.”

It took every bit of will to keep my face carefully neutral as Sliversan revealed the name of my father. Denial and outrage warred within me, along with gratitude that the elf hadn’t revealed that in front of the guards and Ratzel. “Liar,” I said, not wanting to give the Ishen filth the satisfaction of knowing that he had possibly just brought low one of the most powerful men in Kardas, and in Netaian society.

“Am I?” he asked, a mocking smile plastered across his face.

Rage boiled up inside of me, and I hit him hard across the jaw, listening in satisfaction as it broke. “You can have your earned death now, Ishen filth.” I took a few steps back, pulled one of my dirks and threw it, striking him in the throat. I left the room to find the three other elves outside. “Clean up the mess,” I commanded, “And bring me my dirk back later, Ratzel.” I walked toward my home, mind in turmoil at what to do with the new information I’d just been handed. 

Acquiescence

The last thing I remembered was the horrible cold of Drehga. I was huddled in the entryway of a shop, a tattered, threadbare cloak pulled around me. I couldn’t stop the violent shaking of my body. I was so tired all I wanted to do was go to sleep. The sound of my stomach rumbling was so common to my ears that I could almost completely tune it out. I actually felt grateful for the hunger pangs when it dropped below freezing because they kept me awake and alive. My last meal of the fruit I’d bribed from the market for a few hours of work was yesterday. Before that, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d eaten. I’d had to keep moving to get away from my father’s minions.

Waking up in unfamiliar, warm surroundings was startling. The first thing I saw was an endless blue ceiling. The second thing I noticed was everything else under the blue seemed to be effused with light. Was the bed glowing? This was taking the Netaian love for the light to an extreme. Whoever this room belonged to was clearly rich beyond my imagination. I sat up and regretted it almost immediately as my head spun and my eyes fluttered shut against the spots that appeared at the edges of my vision. Okay, perhaps I should try things slowly.

After the dizziness passed, I opened my eyes and looked around the brightly lit room. I began to feel uneasy at being left to wake up on my own in such opulent settings. The bedclothes alone probably cost more coin than I’d ever seen in my life. I ran my hand over the softness, wanting to enjoy it before whoever had brought me here tossed me out again. As if on cue with my thoughts, the door opened and an elf glided in bearing a steaming tray of things that smelled delicious. Startled, yet hungry beyond anything, I whispered a quiet “Hello.” I confess that I was slightly disappointed at the presence of this strange elf. I thought I had been rescued by my warrior. I must have just been dreaming. “Where am I?” I asked, slightly louder since the elf didn’t respond to my first greeting.

Nor did he respond to the second. That was off-putting. He simply smiled and settled the tray down over my lap, bowed slightly and strode out. I’d have been more upset, but I was a starving lady, and he had just set a tray of food in front of me. I looked at the expensive silver dishes and utensils and expected some extravagant food inside. I practically drooled at the anticipation of cakes, eggs, fruits, and all kinds of traditional fast-breaking foods that could be under the lid before me. Whoever brought me here must have chosen to mock me. The only thing under that lid was a bowl of plain brown rice…a side dish! I frowned at the offering and gingerly tasted it anyway. It wasn’t even flavored! I reached for the cup that came with the tray, and sniffed at the liquid inside. Water! All of this extravagance around me, and they served me a…a prisoner’s meal! That thought sobered me quickly. I decided I’d eat, and not jump to any conclusions. I needed to be alert and observant, and I couldn’t be entirely rational with my stomach growling at me.

Actually, I wasn’t as hungry as I first thought. I was only able to eat about half of the rice. I pushed the tray aside and decided to get up and explore the room more fully. I managed to get out of bed, and take a step, and at that exact moment that the door pushed open once more and the warrior from my dreams strode into the room in a blaze of glory. Okay, that might have been overdoing the description a little bit, but I think this elf might have been brighter than the room. Or I was still delusional. Either way. A brief frown crossed his face, and I had this brief desire to do whatever it took to never have him look at me in that way again. “You should not be out of bed,” he said, and then as if brushing off the earlier frown, he smiled and continued, “I suppose you cannot be held at fault. I did not leave instructions, after all.” Part of me wanted to laugh outright at his formality. Part of me wanted to shrink back into the bed. Instead, I stood there and gaped at him like an idiot.

“You served me a side dish,” I said bluntly. It wasn’t the most important thing I should have asked, but it was what I could focus on for the moment.

“I am certain you will forgive me,” he responded, and a maddening smirk spread across his face. “Won’t you at least sit down? I can see you starting to shake.”

“Tell me where I am, first. Do you intend to keep me prisoner?” I demanded, and then added, “My father will be looking for me!” It wasn’t completely a lie, after all.

“Aderyn,” he began, walking toward me, “You’re in my home. We’ve never really been properly introduced, you know. I am Caledon Dawnblade.” He held out his hand and I slid mine into it. An undignified squeak escaped me as he pulled me forward and lifted me up. I had a momentary flashback of him carrying me exactly like this through the streets of Skydas back to this house. I turned my face into his chest, and he stood at the side of the bed for a few minutes before setting me back down into the softness of the bed.

“Don’t leave me alone again.” I begged, reaching out for him. I knew it was ridiculous. I barely knew the elf. There were so many questions left unanswered, like how he knew who I was, why he brought me here and saved me, how long I’d been here and if he was going to kick me out again. I should have asked them but all I could think about at the time was that I couldn’t handle waking up alone again.

It was difficult to tell what time it was when I woke up again. There was a window in the bedroom I was in but the curtains were drawn and I couldn’t see through them. It could have been anywhere from two bells to eight bells and I had no way to be sure. The second thing I became aware of was a very hot and heavy arm draped over my stomach, effectively pinning me in place to the bed.  I traced the arm to its source, and found that Caledon was sleeping next to me. My cheeks flushed as I remembered begging him not to leave me, and I gingerly tried to lift his arm away from me to slip out of bed and put some physical distance between the two of us.  Apparently the sleeping elf would be having none of that. His grip on me tightened and I gasped as he possessively dragged me closer to him. I didn’t think he’d be doing this if he were awake so I pushed at his shoulder with both of my palms and sternly said, “Caledon, wake up.”

The slumbering elf opened his eyes. If Caledon was surprised at my closeness he didn’t show it. Instead, he pulled his arm away and rolled away delicately. He yawned, stretched, and murmured, “Good…morning. Or evening, I think.”

“Don’t you have your own bed?” I asked, curious as to why he was sleeping in the same bed as me. It wasn’t normal, at least in my experience.

“Well…you asked me not to leave you,” he said, as if that were the most rational explanation in the world.

“So you…crawled into bed with me?”

“I was tired! Would you rather I slept on the hard, uncomfortable floor?” He propped himself up on one elbow, clearly not at all at odds with the situation.

“Yes!” I exclaimed, scooting away from him toward the edge of the bed. “You practically molested me in my sleep!”

“I most certainly did not!” He declared indignantly, sitting up and folding his arms over his chest. “Trust me, if I wanted to molest you, my dear, you’d certainly know the difference!”

“Oh, as if that makes it somehow better!” I snapped. I was sure that my cheeks were flushed, “You had me pinned to the bed!”

Caledon had the nerve to roll his eyes at me as he responded, “Oh, for the love of the sun, Aderyn. You’re being unreasonable. You’re the one who begged me to stay. Just accept that, and we can move on to something more important than this nonsense.”

“Absolutely not!” I exclaimed, unwilling to give up my side of the argument.

“Fine,” he stated calmly, and got up from the bed and made his way to the door. By Litessa, he was really going to leave me alone! Well that wasn’t what I wanted at all. Part of me wanted to stay quiet, knowing that if I gave in to this little exchange and admitted my need for him it would give him power over me. He paused at the door and I was briefly hopeful, but it was swiftly crushed as all he added was, “If you need anything, the servants will see to your needs.”

I couldn’t stay quiet as he opened the door. “Wait!” I called after him and he looked back in expectantly. In a very quiet voice I said, “I needed you.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you,” he claimed. I knew it was a lie, and glared at him for making me repeat myself out of spite.

“I need you,” I admitted again, louder this time. “Satisfied?” The smug look on his face made me want to hit him. As he nodded, I threw a pillow at him and added, “You don’t have to look so pleased about it.”

He laughed and caught the pillow, coming back toward the bed, “As if I was ever really going to leave.”

I frowned at him and cursed internally for falling for his trap. Considering how grim my prospects were outside of his home, I asked the question that had been burning at the back of my mind since I woke up the very first time. “How long will you allow me to stay here?”

“For a lifetime,” he immediately assured.

It was another unnerving response, and I wanted to demand that he explain himself fully, but all I could bring myself to mumble was “Oh,” and “Okay.” It wasn’t a very thrilling response, but how else do you respond when a rich stranger declares that he’ll take care of you forever? What if he expected…payment? I shuddered at the thought, and suddenly his presence in my bed was much more ominous.  I was almost afraid to ask, but I had to know. “What do you expect in return for this?”

Caledon seemed to be very sure of himself as he answered, “I don’t need anything from you, Aderyn. You may stay as long as you like and come and go as you please. You are not a prisoner. You may even leave for good when you choose, but I know eventually you won’t want to leave.”

We’ll see, I thought as a servant brought food, and we settled in to easier conversation. 

Illness

These tired old sayings drift through my thoughts.
“It hit me like lightning!” The first time I met you. 
“It was love at first sight!” You were my beautiful soul. 
“Destiny brought us together!” Well honey, reality tore us apart.
“We are meant to be!” When you proposed to me.
“We’ll be together forever.” Darling, forever is a very long time.
“I’ll fight for you.” When you told me about the disease. 
“If we could just stay in this moment.” And pretend you weren’t dying. 
“I love you.” Don’t leave me!
 

Father, dearest.

For about ten out of the twenty-six years that I’ve lived on this earth, I had a good father. People walk into my life all the time, but this is different. This time I came into his life. I was his firstborn, and probably the only one of the three of his children that can remember good times as well as the bad. Since my parents’ divorce and the last time I actually saw my father a few years later, I’ve always thought that just ignoring his existence would make him go away. I thought it would make it easier to get over the fact that he left us, that he abandoned us. Over the years I’ve noticed that I think about him less and less, except for certain days of the year that were important to us.

Time passes differently for children than adults. Even now that I look back on my childhood I find it hard to put events in the order that they happened. I want to write something like “The earliest memory I have of my father is…” but I can’t be sure that it is the earliest memory I have because I have so many early memories of my father. We used to have this giant van and for a few summers we’d go to Tennessee and Arkansas to see my parents’ family friends and my uncle. I remember sitting in the back with the tables and coloring in stuff with my little sister and my mother. Those vacations were part of the good times in my life. My dad taught me how to swim on one of those vacations. Of course, his way of teaching me how to swim was to kind of just throw me into the pool. I think I might have been about six or seven or so. I also remember going to this restaurant-bar place where all kinds of bills were tacked to the ceiling. I can’t remember if they were thrown up there with darts or what, but I remember my dad pointing out all the different denominations.

I think linked to all of the good memories I have are bad memories as well. There’s always a shadow hanging over everything I remember. The last vacation we took to Tennessee is clouded with the memory of the first separation of my parents. My father left my sister and me overnight at my aunt and uncle’s house and my mother moved out for a while to her brother’s place. I remember my dad coming back for us and telling us to pack because we were going back to Tennessee without my mom. I also remember being very confused. I must have been about seven years old because it was when my mother found out she was pregnant with my brother, and he was born shortly after I turned eight. I think that was sort of the final straw in the happy years of our lives together because we never got back to being a family again.

I have friends and family members now who are active drug users. When I say active drug users I mostly mean that they regularly smoke pot. Maybe it’s because I was older and I do remember the marked change between the dad I knew and the man my father became once he became further addicted to crack and found his life crashing down around him, but I can’t bring myself to try even that mild drug. I am so aversive to drugs that I can’t even stand sometimes to be friends with people that live that kind of lifestyle, knowing what kind of life that drugs stole from me. Sitting in the back of a car on a Friday night with your sister and brother while your mother goes into The Palace bar in order to retrieve your dad before he blows all his money on crack really leaves an impression. Just under twenty years later it still makes me angry whenever I drive past that bar when I visit my hometown.

I think my mother told me once that my dad showed up high when my brother was born. I think we moved in with my grandparents during the summer shortly after he was born. The few short months before my mother decided to divorce my father were full of a sort of running and hiding from my dad, because he was the one still living at our house, and we left. When she decided to divorce him it was his turn to move out and the entire world shifted for me.

I remember getting up at ridiculous hours of the morning to go fishing with my dad a lot. It was probably the only time in my life that I actually enjoyed being up early. Something that my dad and I still share in common to this day is our love for walleye. It’s practically the only fish that I will eat, perhaps because it’s something of him that I want to hold on to. We used to fish at a place called second street near rock island. I remember my dad’s boat, and I remember the first fish that I ever caught, a little walleye that was about two inches long. We had to throw it back, but I remember him being proud of me. I remember also going camping and doing all kinds of outdoor stuff that I’d like to be able to do with my own future kids, in order to pass on that legacy that my dad gave me, even though I can’t really remember much about how to do it because I haven’t been in years.

When my mother basically kicked my dad out, we started getting up at ridiculous hours of the morning for an entirely different reason. I don’t remember if it happened right away, but I do know that I remember my dad crawling in my bedroom window one night. He lay in bed with me and said a lot of stuff about my mother and about the divorce. I can’t remember anything about what he said, but I do remember that he smelled horrible, like alcohol and tobacco and sweat, and all I wanted was for him to get away from me. I don’t know how long he lay there with me, but eventually he got up and I assume went to talk to my mother. I think that was the first time he broke into the house, but it certainly wasn’t the last. He used to unhook the phone line from the box outside the house so that my mother couldn’t call the police on him and crawl in the window so that he could “talk” to her. Sometimes we’d be able to get away and run to the neighbors’ house. I can’t imagine the fear that my mother went through every night during those years. I do know that even know she sleeps very lightly and has a fear of being trapped inside of buildings.

It seemed like a nightmare that would never end, really. When we put a lock on the phone box, he ripped out the wires instead. I remember one morning I went out to deliver papers and came back to find that he’d come in and chased my mother and knocked her down outside as she was trying to get to our neighbor’s house. I felt guilty for leaving the door unlocked while I did my job. He contested their divorce every step of the way, but eventually they were divorced. I almost had to testify against my father, but because I couldn’t accurately remember when we’d gone running out of the house in the middle of the night, they declined to put me on the stand. They did, however, make me sit all day at the courthouse. My dad did end up going to jail when I was about twelve, becoming the first man to be convicted of stalking in Henry County, Illinois.

I can point to a couple of moments before I was ten that could be described as physical abuse, but that’s mostly faded from my memory. It’s hard to sit and think about the actual events that happened in my family when I was a child. It’s much easier to simply tell people that my dad was addicted to crack and abusive. It’s easier to try not to remember him as anything but bad because if I remember the good it breaks my heart so much.

I could also describe the big moments of abuse that happened between my father and I. Because we didn’t live together anymore, there were specific moments that stand out to me because we didn’t spend a lot of time with each other. The more he came over in the middle of the night and tormented us, the less I wanted to spend time with him. I remember one night where he whipped his lighter and pack of cigarettes at me and told me it was my fault that he and my mother were fighting instead of getting back together. I dreaded the weekends that he was supposed to take us because I was never sure what was going to happen. He never really filtered what he said about my mother or about us. Thankfully my brother was too young to remember any of it. I’m not sure how my sister handles it.

I think the worst time was when I was volunteering at a vacation bible school being directed by my aunt at St. Patrick’s Catholic Church that my mother’s side of the family had been going to for years. My mother had said I could go over to my friend’s house, but my father was coming to pick up my sister and brother. Or maybe just my sister, I can’t remember now. I wish that I had just left the church and taken off, but I didn’t when my father came looking for me. Instead I hid in one of the rooms, hoping that he’d just leave me. I still have a hard time not blaming myself for the abuse, but I think anyone will tell me that it’s normal to feel that way. When my father caught me he slammed me into a wall in front of several people. I don’t remember if he actually straight out hit me, but I do know he was yelling at me. I remember that it hurt like hell. I also remember that my aunt called the police instead of calling my mother, something that really pissed off my mom. To top it all off, I got yelled at for not going with my father by my mother. Never mind that he slammed me into the wall.

It drives me mad now when my family makes light of the fact that my father was abusive to me. Their favorite thing to say is “He just used to kick your ass every day!” I’ve also heard that my father started yelling at me from the time I was two years old, and it wouldn’t surprise me at all. What I do know is the last time my father moved out was shortly after I told my mother I needed him to go, and shortly after another serious fight between the two of us. The last time I really had any sort of regular contact with my father was February 13, 2000. I’ll never forget that day because it was the first time I actually stood up to my father as he was berating my mother for her choices. He was spouting off about how she was a whore and how she was this and that and the other thing (while my grandmother just looked on, mind you), and I finally just snapped and told him to get out. And he did, quite thoroughly, walk out of our lives for the next twelve years, at least.

Except these past few months everyone seems intent on throwing my father back into my life as if I want to talk about him. For the first time in eleven years I didn’t get angry on February 13, in fact I almost completely forgot about the whole anniversary until late that evening. However, at Thanksgiving and Christmas when I visited my dad’s side of the family, my cousins seemed to all want to talk about my dad. How I felt about the fact that he abandoned me. How I felt about the fact that he was still around and didn’t contact me. If I thought he had other kids out there, and all sorts of other deeply personal questions about how I felt about my dad that they really had no business asking me. Since then it’s been like some sort of floodgate has opened up. I can’t stop thinking about him, especially since my little brother just turned eighteen, and I realize it’s been eighteen years since this whole mess started.

It’s started me thinking about all the ways that my dad is still a part of my life, even when I wish that he wasn’t. Genetically, he gave me his intelligence. My dad, despite his addictive personality, was a brilliant man. He gave me his passion for books and reading. My favorite book trilogy contains one of the only books that my dad ever gave to me. There are some other not so great attributes that I got from him. I have a terrible temper and I’m prone to violence. For a very long time I smoked, probably because it helped me be closer to him. I have his wonderfully blue eyes. We share the common bond that both of our fathers abandoned us, and both of our fathers abused us- though his was his step-father. We share the same favorite dessert, banana pudding.

For the past several years I’ve been trying to cut my father completely out of my life. I’ve kept my number and address completely guarded. I’ve tried not to think about him at all. I’ve tried to reconcile myself to the fact that I’m never going to have a relationship with him. Hell, I didn’t even think that he was going to be alive this long. I was fully prepared to get a phone call that said he had died from a drug overdose. I thought I was prepared for that fact. And some horrible part of me has wanted him to pass away so that I could finally move on. So that when people ask me about my father I could simply say that he was dead and move on from the conversation. So that I could finally forget about him completely, but I can’t, and I won’t.

My brother told me recently that he wants to meet his father. I think that it’s time for me to meet the man my father is now, as well.  

Because I found it funny, okay?

drenballsofmercy:

Twitcher: wtf

Twitcher: somehoe i turned off my touchpad

blacksilketchings: BAHAH

blacksilketchings: SOMEHOE

blacksilketchings: AHAHAHAHA

Twitcher: yes, laugh it up

You forgot the part where I said the only way to turn my touchpad back on was through manual stimulation.

And if that wasn’t what I said, it’s what i’m saying now.