John

John is a bad name.

Every day is a day of war. Every few days are good days but for the most part, there are constant shots being made. There is always an underlying monster waiting to take a hold of someone from our family. Most of the time the monster takes hold of my dad. I guess he is pretty weak. He stomps around searching for any type of weakness or problems.

It was easiest when I was never home, so most fights the monster picked were with my mum. Today was not the day. I woke up and walked outside my safety net, the fire-free zone. My parents were chatting as if my father hadn’t just told my mum she needed to move out of his house. Yesterday was scary, I had looked up apartments and found a few that were under $700. None of which were on a "good" side of town but in a pinch could work if she had to make it work.

But today was a new day, right?

I gave my mum a hug that seemed to never end before going to pour my coffee. Maybe that is where I messed up the lack of greeting him with a perky Good Morning. Even though he hasn’t wished me a good morning since I was a freshman in high school. Hell, he didn’t even tell me Happy Birthday last year, much less get me something.

He’s working on your cup, mum said.

I walked away playing off like I hadn’t heard her, there's no point in getting excited over a gift that was seven years past due. I grabbed a mug down from the cubbard and set it down on a paper towel. If I messed up the counters the monster might show its head. You see when the bottom of the coffee cups get warm, they turn the counter tops a weird white color and I knew how much my mum hated that. I poured the dark liquid into the cup as the air thickened.

What movie do y’all want to watch? I asked.

It is our Sunday thing, we watched a movie together, and then mum would cook the family a nice brunch (which dad would complain about or give her advice on what to improve upon for the next time). At which my mum would either get her feelings hurt or be irritated by the fact that he had a bunch of demands but couldn’t even fix the back door which had been broken for at least a month now. Dad sat down in his recliner, propping himself back. It was odd to see him sitting there at 8:32 am on a Sunday. If he wasn’t out acting, his latest hobby, then he was in the garage turning blocks of wood into useful things that people apparently spent too much money on. He was rarely indoors with us peasants.

I went and grabbed my tan pillow, my iPad, and my black Buckee’s blanket throwing them on the couch before going into the office. Silence filled the air as I waited for a response. I felt my chest tighten, the office had four bookshelves full of movies, most of which are my mum's dorky horror movies.

Don’t all talk at once. I said.

Silence.

I thought you knew what you were going to put in. Mum said.

I shook my head as I looked at the Ernest Goes to Camp Dvd. No, Dad wouldn’t want to watch it I thought. After a few more minutes of silence, I saw the movie.

What about Support Your Local Sheriff?

That's the one, they said in unison.

I grabbed the disc and put it into the DVD/VCR player, before going to my spot on the couch. I laid there propped up with my iPad and my small pug crawled over into my lap. I was looking through Pinterest, after finding nothing of use. I started to watch the movie. After 20 minutes, I got a bit bored.

I felt like for some reason, now would be a good time to bring up how I was making my mum a cake for her birthday that was now 6 days away. I turned towards my dad and said I’m making mum a pumpkin spice cake for her birthday. He turned his head around to find who I was talking to. He did this often, I think it is just to be an arse. Sometimes he would do it when I was pouring my coffee in the morning, he would look up at me and then keep reading on his iPad. I would say something regular like did you hear about the woman who is protesting the banks? Silence would fill the air and eventually once I cleared my throat he would look around as if I wasn’t talking to him. But this time I wasn’t going to sit here and let him ignore me. I pointed at him.

Yes, I’m talking to you, there is no one else over there but you. I said.

Maybe that was my mistake. Making him acknowledge that I was in fact talking to him.

A spice cake would be better. He said.

I felt my jaw get tight. I honestly was pissed at him. Last year I had to go out and buy her cupcakes cause my dad handed her a crisp $100 and said Happy Birthday. That was it, that was all he did. Whereas a few months later, my mum cooked him crab legs, and baked potatoes, and a cake. She of course got him a gift, so did I. To which he gave an insincere thank you, because to him, it wasn’t enough. I’m sure this year will be no different. He would blame the virus for the lack of gift, or card, or lack of effort. It was days like this that made me vow not to marry someone like my father. It was mothers day where he bought her what he thought she would like which was never right. It seemed like he only knew that she liked tulips and Kohls. Every Christmas it was up to me to take his money and go buy my mum gifts because he didn’t spend enough time with her to know what to get her. He bought us jewelry each year and did big speeches about how he’s an ass but he will try to be better next year. By March every year that was long in the depths of his memory.

After the movie ended mum sent me to find a second one. We should have known better than to push our luck. You can’t do too much with Dad after he has a major fight the day before because he is still in defense mode. There's still a boil simmering underneath his mask, the monster always likes to linger. He also can’t fight with my mom and not fight with me or vice versa. It’s as if he wants to burn every bridge he has before letting the anger within hibernate for the next few months. I would say it's a seasonal type thing but sometimes you can get hit once a month and then be good for another two months. There was surely a medical condition going.

I had been diagnosed with depression and anxiety at a young age. I know that my mental condition had to come from somewhere. I always assumed it was my biological mother, but the older I get the more I consider that it was my dad's side. This monster hides within the family, only showing its head when it wants to. We both have short fuses but I don’t normally say things that I might regret, which my dad seems to do constantly.

After finally picking one, due to the fact we could not locate our Maverick DVD. We moved on. Mum and I had picked a movie that he likes so it really shouldn’t have been a problem. But it seemed to be the tip of what was going to be a very major problem. After I put it in I sat down and informed my mother that I would be getting boots, we bickered because we had different ideas of what a boot looked like.

My phone lit up with a text from my boyfriend, telling me about how his mom was being rude and such. I was typing away when it started.

Must you always tell people the problems of this household? She snapped.

I looked up confused, before realizing what she meant. She was still upset. I had texted Jesse about how stressful everything was in our fragile ecosystem yesterday.

Not every text I send is about my parents, you know? Sometimes I can respond to what other people say, like good morning! I snapped back.

I went into my room to grab my water when I overheard my name being used in the kitchen. I went into the living room, setting my stuff down. I saw my dad bending over to my shelf of the three things I owned in the kitchen. He was grabbing my milk frother without even asking if he could use it. He started to whip the eggs together. I don’t really know what pissed me off the most. That he didn’t ask me to use it or that he had talked about me as if I was actually there. I don’t think it helped that my mom and I had just got into it either. They must have felt my anger. Next thing I know my father is calling me over and saying he doesn’t get what my problem is. Then he decided he knew what my problem was and started to tell me about it. Finally, I gripped my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

I am upset because I have to ask permission to borrow a charger or use your coffee pot but you can not do the same. I own a total of three things in this kitchen...[mainly because if I own anything more my mom gets irritated because I am invading her space] and you didn’t even bother to ask if you could use it.

Shock swept across his face, before being quickly replaced with anger.

I am so sorry I used your mixer without asking. I won’t ever touch it again. He screamed.

I know I should have let it go, I should have just said okay and walked away because you can’t ever win with him. He is always right and will die before he says the words “I’m sorry”. But he had to push me.

I’m so sorry I used your mixer to make a lovely breakfast for you.

That’s not the point. You DIDN’T ask.

Go to your room! He screamed.

Thank you! I shouted back biting my tongue not to add the word Master in as I grabbed my things off the couch. Slamming my white door behind me.

Fucking Jerk! I just wanted to scream. I threw my stuff on my bed harshly, not caring if the electronics break. I felt hot angry tears slip down my face. No, I shook my head. I refuse to cry because he’s a jerk. A few minutes later, he came into my room.

Are you eating breakfast? He asked.

Silence filled the air as I contemplated ignoring him.

No. I said stiffly. He slammed my door shut.

I kept on typing, as words filled the document:

I’m sure deep down somewhere he feels betrayed. The little girl who had once worshiped the ground he stood on now barely looked at him. What he didn’t seem to get were the years of her trying to reach out to him but always getting rejections, She watched in her adolescence as he took her half brothers out to eat or how they all drank and joked around at family get-togethers. She couldn’t keep up due to the fact that she was 13, not 21. She watched as her dad went out with her brother when they went to celebrate the coming of 21. All she could do was go home with her mom and wait for her turn at the commonality that would hopefully come as she got older. She watched as her friend's parents asked her friends about their day, what they were writing about, what school they were hoping to attend, there was no awkwardness, no pressure on answering correctly. It was as if they did this every day, and there was some type of freeness to it. I would rush home after the sleepovers and come through the door. Like most days, it was just my mum and the dogs. Dad was off doing the latest hobby he liked. While mum was stuck at home looking after me and the dogs.

I heard them talking.

I’ll talk to her. My mum said.

She always did. He beat her to my room, slamming the door open as he entered. I refused to look at him since I knew the one thing he wanted was my attention. I ignored him as if he were a child throwing a temper tantrum and only looked at my mum.

I can’t keep living like this. She said.

I nodded. This roughly translates to you will have to be the bigger person, as always, and say you are sorry first. He stomped out of the room, unsatisfied by my lack of attention to him. Mom and I talked for a long time. I chose to be honest this time rather than just say okay to everything. The truth came out. He is a jerk.

I wasn’t the one who started it this morning! I said, as my mum raised her eyebrow.

He ignored me, he didn’t answer three questions I asked him and then used my frother without even asking. I didn’t do anything but wake up.

He burst into the room again.

No, You don’t get to interrupt me I am talking to mum, not you.

He started to protest, but I kept going, this was going to end badly either way so it might as well be out on the table.

No, I try with you. The other day I was talking to you and you walked away while I was in the middle of saying something. I’m tired of being the only one who tries.

That’s not true. When?

I was telling you on Monday about the workouts I did and how I walked a mile and a half, and you got up off the stool and walked into your bedroom. You don’t even try.

You know what I’m done with you. You act as if you treat us perfectly. I Always have your back, when no one else does. When your mother was abusing you! I got you out! But I’m done. Call me John. Don’t ask me for a damn thing. Nothing. You are on your own.

He turned to leave, The day you graduate you need to move out.

I felt hot tears fall, knowing not even half of that was true, also knowing that he would regret those words within a week. He always did. My mom came over and hugged me.

See? This is how it always goes. She said

That doesn’t make it okay. I said softly.

No, but that's just the way he is.

It doesn't make it right.

Silence.

I don’t understand why with my brothers, he can take them to dinner and do things with them. He even tried with CHRIS! I said my voice breaking.

She rubbed my back and pulled me close as I cried.

You know he loves you. He would do anything for you. He’s just a little crazy. He seems to hurt the ones he loves the most. She said

I couldn’t help but think about how fucked up it was. Mom can say all day long that this wasn’t mental abuse, but to me... it was. It was as if I lived in Mansfield again with my biological mom and my bipolar stepdad. Everyday was rough unless he wasn’t there. Maybe it’s because they have the same name.

Come on, let’s go eat breakfast. She said,

I nodded, hoping that since we had all talked it would be better in some way. I was clearly wrong.

Give my compliments to the chef. I told mom, it was the same joke I made any Sunday he cooked breakfast. My mom walked over, and his back became rigid.

My name is John. He said.