No Weapon

ACT I: THE CHILD

“He never loved us! So, we’re not going to love him either!” The words my mother spat into my six-year-old face sank deep in my bones. Their weight anchored me in place. I could hear my father shout through the front door. Although I couldn’t hear what he was saying, I felt the bass in his voice in my frail chest. “Shut the hell up!” my mother screamed back at him in his direction. “You know you never gave a damn about us! I’m going to teach her to hate you!”

I was gone in that moment. My ghost remained to remind me of what was taking place. I wanted nothing more than to wake up to my parents smiling and laughing like they used to. The sun beaming through the window onto our small kitchen table filled with cereals and fruits for our morning breakfast. My father would always open every box we had and mix them all in his bowl. I would laugh at my mother’s playful disapproval.

My father’s banging on the door brought me back to the cold moment I was smothered in. “Angela! Angela, open up this door! Right now!” His voice was barbaric. Animalistic. I started to cry at the sound that I had never heard from him before. My mother gathered me into her arms. Her heartbeat pounded against my ears. “Get away from my house before I call the police!” my mother shouted. Then, my father’s shadow appeared in the frame of the living room window.

“Azalea, don’t you listen to her! Daddy loves you!” my father yelled, trying to find a good enough hole in the blinds to see me. “I always loved you, ok?” I always loved you!” My mother hurled one of the pillows from the couch at his shadowy figure. “Get on out of here! You ain’t never gonna see her again!” The words burned as I heard them. I couldn’t process them fast enough before my father began to ram into the door. The power of his body shook the walls of the house, rattling the cheap paintings that hung on them.

My mother pushed me behind her. I stumbled a bit as I tried to keep my eyes on the door. The impact was almost destructive. I feared what my father would do if he finally got inside. He had never hurt us before, but he didn’t seem to be himself. “You can’t keep me from my baby! You can’t keep my baby from me!” he barked.

It felt like an instant later when I heard the sirens. The ramming subsided. My mother seemed to have discovered newfound courage. She turned to me and got down on her knees in front of me. Her mascara streamed down her face like black tears. Her breath was hot and slightly labored as she began talking to me. “It’s ok baby,” she said, rubbing my arms with her large hands. “I’m going to make it to where we don’t ever have to see him again.”

I started to shake my head to object, but her instructions interrupted me. “Now go on. Go on to your room. I’m going to get rid of your dad.” Her light nudge turned to somewhat of a shove as a knocking at the door startled us both. “Go!” she yelled one more time. I quickly walked toward my room. The commotion outside caught my attention, but I was too far away to look at what was going on before the living room door slammed shut again.

Peaked voices pierced through the tiny house. Nothing I could make out. I un-blurred my eyes from the tears that guarded them. The space in my bedroom felt foreign. Like the body I occupied just birthed a new self that remembered how things were before but realized that time had just passed away. I looked around for something familiar. The stuffed animals I slept with every night lined my bed.

I plopped down on the edge of the bed. Some of the animals fell over as I landed. I reached over to grab them but one of the animals, my teddy bear Denny, fell between the bed and the headboard. I leaned down, stretching my arm as far as I could to get him. I was able to reach his leg before he slid all the way down to the floor. When I started to pull up Denny, I heard a tear. I looked over the edge of the bed and realized his head was snagged on a strip of wood that had splintered from the headboard. Thousands of tiny Styrofoam balls spilled from within him. The quiet sound of them piling onto the carpet was like a muffled fountain. Denny’s body deflated and his leg went flat in my hand.

I looked down at the mess beneath me. Denny’s empty deformed body hung lifeless next to me. My thoughts went immediately to my father handing me Denny on my birthday the year before. I remembered how happy he was when I got it. I had asked for a stuffed animal that was like him since I used to lay in the bed with my parents. He told me he had something I could be with forever.

I wrestled around with Denny until I got him loose from the headboard. I looked over at the smile on the stuffed rabbit my mother gave me that was supposed to be her. Something sank into my reality at that moment as I held my father’s bear. I knew at that point that things weren’t going to go well anymore. The balance had shifted. My father was outside turning into the bear I held at night. But instead of protecting me, he was attacking. There would be no way I could reach to him for comfort any longer.

The front door of the house opened. The sound seemed more tamed than before. It shut again and I heard someone’s footsteps. I perked up at the thought that maybe both my parents would come into my room and give me a big hug together like they always did. I peered down the hall until I saw my mother staring back at me.

We looked at each other. And somehow, with just a silent stare from a distance, she told me it was going to be just me and her from then on.

ACT II: THE TEEN

I had come to discover smaller, boyish versions of my father in high school. Liars. Broken. Their emotions were my handle. I liked to stay quiet. I’d listen to them try to impress me. I silently studied them looking for a way in. It became second nature. I could always tell who the needy ones were. The ones grasping for any form of interaction. They always talked too much when they thought I was interested. I tried my hand at a couple of the girls. But boys were fun to toy around with. Simpler to see through.

Honestly, I was doing them a favor. They should be grateful I was around. They all deserved the worst. There were a few times where I thought I found someone different. Someone gentle or kind. But eventually, they would all want the same thing. Make it seem like they wanted to be friends just for me to fulfill some porn video they watched. So, I would just show them who they were sooner. They were my rescues.

One of them caught my attention more than the others. He was bigger than the rest. More of a challenge. But they were all the same. I just needed to figure out what that one’s latch was. Most had issues with past relationships. Some were looking for someone to rebel inside of. Others were just too weak to say no to me. But he was different. He seemed put together. He knew what he wanted and that got to me. I searched him for the smallest crack.

Before I could find anything, he made me forget what I was even doing. Every answer he gave seemed to be the right one. He was two steps ahead of me before I could even move. His smile became the delight I needed to get through the day. He would always brush his hand through my long black hair. The fascination in his eyes made me feel so good. He always complimented the way my hair draped down my shoulders. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I waited. I waited a long while before opening my doors to him. I was certain he would morph into something I expected. But he never did.

Day after day passed before I eventually opened all the way up to him. His emotional embrace was felt before that of his arms. I held him tightly within me. And he held me back. I was scared, yet joyful. I had never experienced the feeling before. We molded into each other. I dreaded the second we had to let each other go for classes. When he left, a part of me was still with him. Every moment of every day was spent waiting to get back to him.

I was afraid to tell my mother, as she had warned me about boys and the men they were destined to become. Too many nights came and gone without my father in the house. The years were slow. Every once in a while, I thought I saw his car driving past my school. I would look, hoping he would notice me. But he never did. Or at least didn’t care. There were times when I would mention him to my mother. She would always snap back at me, and I had to pretend I didn’t wonder where he was.

I longed for my father, but only the character I wanted him to be. My mother made it clear that any nice thing I remembered about him was just an act. He was one of the most horrible men and wanted nothing more than to hurt us. I tried to counteract the thought but couldn’t shake the heavy pounding at the door when I saw him last.

Court cases came and gone as he tried to get visitation. My mother said it was just for show. He was trying to feel better about signing over custody. He had to pretend to care for the judge. She never let me come to the hearings. I had just assumed things were all going to be the same as they were before. And they always were. I would ask my mother how it all went, and she would give me a nonchalant answer like it was just any other day.

There was a victory in her voice. Like she won a game she created for herself. I would try to copy her confidence, which she always liked. She would always say “Azalea, you are my trophy.” The words didn’t make sense to me, but I would smile anyways. She was always the happiest right after the court days, so I didn’t disturb her. But I always wondered what she meant.

ACT III: THE ADULT

The sound of the crying baby intertwined with my daily existence. I would rock him until I forgot what it was like to be still. My deep breaths had become ineffective. It hurt knowing I found his father’s flaws so late. I lost my own game. So, I kept him from his son because he didn’t deserve to see him. He hurt me and it was time for him to pay. He had to feel what I felt. But, I couldn’t help but think about the fact that my child may be crying because he could feel what was in me. The pain. The weariness. My mother’s cancer made it hard for me to want to bother her. The urge to reach out to my father whined within me. But I felt more and more like I had no choice.

The phone dialed out and I hoped he wouldn’t answer. I wanted to say I tried, and he wasn’t there for me. His voice was both disappointing and refreshing. “Hello?” he said softly. The sound of his voice had grown scratchier over the years. Like he had been smoking. “Hey Dad,” I replied, hoping he could hear me over the baby. I hadn’t decided exactly what I wanted to say. I held the phone trying to construct any kind of sentence before my father finally spoke up.

“That thing’s got some lungs on it,” he said, laughing. I could hear his smile through the phone. “Yeah, definitely,” I replied. “He’s been crying all day.” The words almost choked me on their way out. I was beyond tired in every way. I could barely hold myself together. My father recognized the anguish in my voice. “Oh honey, it’s going to be ok,” my father said softly. His verbal comfort released everything within me.

I wept. Harder than I had ever before in my life. The sorrow doubled me over. At that moment, I broke apart into pieces. “Hey, I’m going to come by. I’ll be right there.” My father’s words sent more hot tears down my face. I didn’t have time to object before he hung up. I dropped the phone, fell to my knees, and buried my head into the cushions of the sofa next to me. I cried until I ached all over. Until I was empty. Completely drained of anything that could be considered life inside of me.

Eventually, I heard a light knocking at the door. The sound was nothing like that of what I heard when I was younger. I wiped my face and looked through the peephole to see my aged father holding a grocery bag full of stuff I’m sure he thought I liked. I opened the door. His warm eyes looked into me, coating me with safety.

“Hey Azzy,” he said. His smile warmed me even when I forgot I was cold. “Hey Dad,” I replied. He stepped in and I hugged him around his neck. His course beard scraped against my cheek. I could hear his exhale of relief as I embraced him. His one free arm wrapped itself around my entire being. For a moment, I forgot about everything. The whole world went still. It was just us. In that moment. Together.

He stepped back and looked me over. He particularly had his eyes on my buzzcut. “That looks really good on you, Azalea,” he said gently. I instinctively brushed my hand over my head. “Thanks,” I replied. The smile I gave was unexpected. “I got you some stuff,” my father said, handing me the grocery bag. I rummaged through it, seeing all the familiar things he would get me all the time. He made his way over to the crying baby.

My father picked him up and looked him over. “Doesn’t seem to be broken,” he said. To my surprise, the crying began to fade almost immediately. He bounced the baby up and down until the room was completely quiet. A deep breath escaped my lungs. I closed my eyes and paused for a moment to take in the silence I had missed so much.

My father carefully sat on the sofa, making sure to keep the baby still in his arm. I placed the bag of groceries down on the kitchen counter and joined them. He looked at me and smiled the smile I had missed for so many years. I took his free arm wrapped it around me, snuggling into his large bear body. I let myself sink into him. I allowed myself to soothe. Soon, the crying that plagued me for so long became just a memory. The child just wanted a father.