Leaving Home

“Dumbass.  Moron.”  The words rang in my ears as I stormed away.  Anyone who disagreed with him got to hear those words hurled at them.  But I was special.  I got to hear them on a daily basis.  And they were all for me.  

“David, you moron!  Of course the panels go a certain way.  You can’t flip them back and forth each time.  Any old idiot would have known that!”  He said after throwing the remote at me.  

“Well not me!  I’ve never done this before!”  I stood up to him this one time.  He’d knocked me down and screamed at me before.  But this time...this time was the last time.  I’d been his cat to kick for too long.  It wasn’t my fault I didn’t know how to do things he was brought up doing.  I’d never been shown.  That was his job as my stepfather, and he was terrible at it.  

And I could never bring up politics.  All hell would break loose if I mentioned agreeing with a Democrat.  They were idiots and selfish people, only in it to gain what they could for themselves.  Heaven help them.  Heaven help me.  

“I’m done.”

The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them.  

“I’m leaving.”

“What?”  There was fear in his voice.

“I said, ‘I’m leaving.’  You’ve pushed me around for too long.  I’m not your cat to kick whenever the world isn’t going your way.  And I’m tired of just taking it.  I’m tired of hearing that I’m a moron every night.”  Tears began to flow down my cheeks, making me angry that I’d let it get this far.  “I don’t like cars.  I don’t like working on them.  I don’t like pretending that what I want to do with my life doesn’t matter.  I don’t like hearing that I’ll never amount to anything because I don’t want a ‘real job.’  I’m done being beaten down by you.  I’m not your punching bag.  Not now, not anymore, never again.”  I stepped forward, looking down on him.  “I’m done with your shit.  I’m done with your abuse.  I’m done with forcing myself to be around every time you need someone to pick on.  Just because you’re insecure about yourself doesn’t mean you need to take it out on me.  Fuck you.  I’m leaving.”

With that, I turned around and went upstairs.  Crossing the threshold of my room, I fell to my knees and began to sob.  What had I done?  Where would I go?  What would I do for food?  Fear punched me in the gut and grabbed me.  

Silence downstairs.  And then the slow creaking of the stairs as Mom climbed them.  Three light taps on the door.  “It’s just me,” she said, almost whispering, “Can I come in?”

“Yes.”  

She closed the door softly behind herself and then sat down on the floor, placing a hand lightly on my back.  

I melted.  Sobbing again, I laid my head on her lap and let the tears come.  I don’t know how long we sat in silence.  I didn’t care.  I was with my mother, who had tried to protect me since I was young.  She kept a positive attitude in the face of Dad’s cancer.  And the morning he lay dying, she encouraged me to go to bed instead of joining the people at his bedside.  But I’d refused.  I wanted to be with my dad when he passed, and I was.  She’d taken on multiple jobs to help provide for us, and when she’d found someone who made her happy, I had been happy for her.  I never dreamed it would turn out like this.  

“Do you really want to leave?”  Her words exposed the emotion filling the air.  

“Yes”

“Okay, then.  Let’s get you packed.”  She patted my back.  

I could feel her wanting to talk me out of it.  Yearning that her eldest son would stay with her.  We’d been so much together.  It would be tough alone.  But she said nothing.  Simply reached for the suitcase in my closet and opened it on the bed.  

“Pick out your clothes; I’ll get your books,” her orderly directions calmed my mind, giving me purpose in the moment.  I opened my dresser and started to pick out t-shirts and jeans.  She reached for my stack of Bibles.  “Which one?” she asked, holding up the two most worn ones.  I nodded at the left one.  The cover was falling apart, shedding faux leather onto anything it touched, but I had used it for years.  It was like home to me.  

She grabbed my journal and copy of the Chronicles of Narnia and placed them on top of the Bible in the suitcase.  “I know they’re easy reads, but they were comforting to me when I was younger; I think you might enjoy them now.”  

“Thank you,” my voice was barely a whisper.  

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.”  

She reached into the closet and grabbed my favorite hoodie and handed it to me.  “Put this on.  It’s cold out there tonight.”  

I took the hoodie.  Was I doing the right thing?  With me gone, who would he abuse now?  Mom and my little brother were still in the home.  Would they be ok?   I wasn’t sure.  The tears started to fall again.  I looked at Mom and saw her eyes glistening too.  She was smiling at me.  Putting on a brave face, but I knew the same questions were in her mind.  She had nowhere to go.  For that matter, neither did I.  But she was letting me go.  A final act of protection, I guess.  

She handed me my phone and charger.  “I texted Jenni before I came up.  She’s made up the guest room for you.  You can stay there until you know your next steps.”  Mom’s friend was safe, if chaotic.  I would head there and start figuring things out in the morning.  

“Thank you.”  I zipped up my suitcase and put my phone in my pocket.  

“Ready to go?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, then.”  We headed downstairs and past him.  As we got to the door, she turned and began to rummage through her purse.  She evidently found what she was looking for because she put her purse down and hugged me.  I felt her hand slide into my back pocket.  “You need this more than I do right now.”  She glanced fearfully behind her, cautious of his watchful eye.  “I love you.  Be safe.  And call me when you can.”

“I will.  I love you too.”  Turning around, I stepped outside.  Free.