Longing Heart

“You son of a bitch!”, he screamed, his face just inches from mine. There was terrifying fire in his eyes, and spit flew from his mouth, splattering across my face. I didn’t dare raise my arm to wipe it away. Instead, I stood frozen in complete terror. He grabbed my collar fiercely, lifted me up to his eye level, and shoved me against the wall behind me with a hard thud. I hardly dared breathe. I didn’t want this to go like last time. I just looked at the ground and tried not to make him any more angry. He swayed a bit from drunkenness but continued to spew insults, banging my head against the wall between each offense, “You are the most pathetic…” (thud) “sloppy…” (thud) “worthless kid!” (Thud). Here, he looked deeply into my eyes so that I knew he meant his next words, “I wish I could get rid of you.” he growled. He shoved me against the wall one last time, finally dropping me into a heap on the floor. “Get out of here!” he yelled, as he kicked my nearest leg. My head was throbbing and seared with pain. I sat up, trying to collect my bearings. “Now!” He shrieked, kicking me again for good measure. 

And with that I was gone. I scrambled up, grabbed my backpack and jacket, threw them on my back, and was out the front door before he could say another word. I sprinted 5 or 6 blocks from the house before slowing down and looking behind me. My heart was racing, and I was shaking with adrenaline, but I felt relieved to be out of the house. My dad was far behind me now. And he never came after me when he was drunk. 

Ugh, I hate him! My mind stormed in anger, Every single thing about him. I clinched my fists, and impulsively kicked my leg against a nearby tree trunk. My shin emerged scratched and bloody, but I didn’t even care. I felt numb to pain. And he calls me a slob, ha!, I laughed to myself in derision. I only woke the man up because he fell asleep drunk on the couch, and I couldn’t get through the minefield of trash he left on the floor, sue me! Whatever… I kicked at a pile of dead leaves on the sidewalk, My life is garbage, but who gives a crap?

I walked on, sometimes feeling angry, sometimes feeling sad, but trying not to acknowledge how much I actually cared. Finally, my mind settled where it always did when I got calmed down, and I began to think of my mother. If only my mom hadn’t died, I bet she would have been a good mom to me. She would have cared. She would have loved and taken care of me. I just know it! I sighed in longing, a deep, heart felt pain settling over me. I had always had some unearthly connection with my mother. I genuinely felt that wherever she was, she loved me and wanted the best for me. And that’s what made living alone with my father, all the worse. If it wasn’t for one freak car accident, my life would have been totally different.

I trudged ahead, unsure exactly where I was headed. Luckily for me, it was an unusually warm fall evening. The football game. It occurred to me. I’ll go to the game and then maybe I can sneak into the stadium bathroom for the night. The Campbell Stadium, where my high school football team played its games, was only about 1.5 miles away. I could handle that. 

I finally arrived at the stadium and glanced at my phone. 7:45. The game was in full swing by now. I didn’t care if I missed it; in fact, I didn’t want to go in and see anyone from school, but I figured I could lay low. This was my ticket to have a place to sleep for the night after all. I pulled my hood on, handed the entrance booth my school ID card, and rushed through the entry, head down. I found the student section, and sat in the back, trying to find a space as far away from the other students as I could. 

Before I knew it, it was half time, and the cheerleaders stormed the field. They performed a series of tricks, throwing flyers up into the air, before catching them on their backs. It was pretty entertaining, until suddenly one of the girls lost her balance and collapsed. The other girls must not have seen it coming, because no one caught her. She dropped rapidly and hit the ground hard, with nothing and no one to soften her fall. 

There was an audible gasp from the bleachers, and a commotion to my left as a middle aged couple, evidently the girls’ parents, jumped up from their seats, hands over their mouths, and raced down to the field. I watched them carefully as they gently helped their daughter to stand, and then, getting on either side of her, patiently supported her as she hobbled off the field. It was hard to see them on the sidelines now from where I sat, but something in me urged me to keep watching them. I walked to the front of the stands, and looked down over the fence. The girl sat on a bench clutching her ankle, tears flowing down her cheeks. She was clearly in a lot of pain. Through it all though, her mom and dad lovingly tended her. They both spoke kind and encouraging words, as her dad held an ice pack on her ankle and her mom rubbed her back and stroked her hair. It really wasn’t much I suppose, but after what I had just been through with my hateful father, seeing these loving parents really hit me. Man, I said to myself, Can you imagine? What if I had parents like that? It would change everything. I would be so much happier.

That feeling of deep longing hit me once again, but this time it was mixed with something else. For the first time ever, along with the longing, I felt a sense of determination, a determination to escape my father. If I couldn’t have parents like that, at least I could get away from a parent who was the complete opposite. Surely my life would be better just by being away from him. For years, I had considered calling the authorities on my dad, but the last thing I wanted was to move from a home with a dad that hated me to a home where a stranger hated me and just used me as a meal ticket. No thanks, that wasn’t it. But, with my newfound determination, I finally decided what I needed to do. That’s it. I’m out of here. I declared to myself. I’m 16 now and I can handle real life on my own. I’m not hanging around here anymore. Something has got to change, and it has to happen now.

So, with that, I had made up my mind. I wasn’t staying the night in some bathroom. I was running away. But I didn’t want my dad to have easy access to me, so I thought I’d better go home and find my birth certificate at the house, and take it with me. I don’t know if it was necessary or not, but that was the thought I had. So, I stood up, left the game, and began retracing my steps back to the house. 

I knew where my dad kept my birth certificate. Or, at least, I was pretty sure. There was a stack of papers crammed between his bed and the far wall in his bedroom that he had always worked to keep me away from. I never got near it because I just didn’t care, but I was sure that was the first place that I needed to look. 

I arrived at the house but paused for a minute near the front door, pacing the yard. I prayed that my dad would not be awake. If he caught me by that pile of papers, who knew what he would do to me? But ultimately, I took a deep breath and inched open the door, slowly letting the living room enter my view. Dad was just where he had been earlier that evening, passed out on the couch. The lights were dim, and the house was very quiet beside his deep breathing. This time I just had to be more careful getting around all of his garbage. Slowly, I tiptoed my way across the living room, my eyes to the floor, as I made sure to avoid each and every wrapper and bottle. I made my way first to my room, where I threw a couple of items into my backpack, mostly clothes, some money, my phone charger, and a few snacks that I kept hidden in my room. Then I snuck to my dad’s room. 

I knew right where I was going. I plunged forward to the pile behind his bed. There it was- sheet after sheet of paper- stacked one pile after the other, side by side against the wall. I crouched down beside the pile. Food smears could be seen on some of the sheets, and I rolled my eyes again at his earlier comment about my “sloppiness”. 

Slowly, and quietly, I lifted each page, examined it, and then set it in a pile on the floor to my right. I would need to be sure to replace them all in dads’ piles when I was finished. Most of them looked to me like they were probably tax forms, line after line of description and number. I sifted page after page until suddenly, I found it. There it was! Johnathan Morris, it read, as well as my parents names, Julius Morris and Mary Bennet. I tucked the paper inside my backpack, replaced my stack back into my dad’s piles, and got up to leave. Suddenly, I noticed one loose sheet of paper, to my right and behind me a bit, underneath my dad’s bed. Assuming I had missed one, I grabbed the paper and went to put it in the pile. As I did so, I glanced at the front of it. What I saw absolutely bewildered me. It looked an awful lot like a birth certificate, similar to the one I had just held in my hand, and there was my name, just as it had been on the other form. I wanted to take a closer look at it, but I heard a sudden loud squeak from the living room couch. I had to get out of there. I tucked this second paper into my backpack, tiptoed to the front door, and let myself out into the night. 

Thanks to my sharp sense of direction, I knew just where to go, and headed toward the Greyhound Bus Station, which was about 5 miles away. It would be a bit of a walk, but I didn’t mind. I already felt a sense of freedom just having taken this first step, and I was a happier person than I had been in a while. 

It was nearly midnight by the time I arrived at the station. I was tired, and my head really hurt, but I was in a good mood nonetheless. The station was open 24 hours, so I entered and found a bench to sit on. I was right across from the large screen where the destinations and times were listed. 

Minneapolis— 8am

Chicago— 4 am

Springfield— 11:30 am

Omaha— 2 am

Jefferson City— 1pm tomorrow

Hm. Not a lot of options that enticed me honestly. Perhaps I could catch the 2am to Omaha and get a connection from there headed toward the west coast. I liked the idea of the west coast, and that would also get me far away from my father. I was just about to approach the ticket booth and get a ticket, when I remembered that extra document I head found in my dad’s room. I swung my backpack onto my lap and decided to take a look now that I was sitting here calmly at the station. I dug into my bag, and pulled out both papers, my birth certificate, and the other one. 

My eyes scanned the two pages. There was no doubt about it, they were both birth certificates. But they were different. They had completely different background designs and watermarks from one another. On the one I knew to be my birth certificate, it said “The State of Iowa” at the top, but the other said it was from Illinois. Both certificates had my name listed under “Child’s Name”, and my dad’s name listed under “father”, but where the Iowa one listed my mom as “Mary Bennet”, the name my dad had always used when referring to my mother, the Illinois one said “Meredith Bailey.” Under birthplace, the Iowa one said Des Moines, while the Illinois certificate said Chicago.

What in the world is going on here? I questioned. Why would my dad have two different birth certificates for me? This is insane. My mind considered the possibilities, but I couldn’t come up with anything reasonable. It doesn’t make sense…. I thought, Why would I have two certificates with different mothers names and different locations and…? I stopped short. 

It suddenly hit me. Of course he lied to me. I know him well, and of course he lied to me. The only reason he would have a second birth certificate for me is because he made a fake one. One of these is fake, and I’m sure it’s not the Illinois one, or I would have heard some of this info by now. My mind was racing now. That means my mom’s name is actually Meredith Bailey, and that means…. I gasped, and I’m pretty sure it was audible. If my dad lied about who my mom is then maybe he lied about my mom being dead. Maybe she’s out there somewhere, and my dad wasn’t even supposed to have me in the first place and…maybe I should contact the authorities. It finally occurred to me. 

Maybe. I would think about it. Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t. But first there was something I needed to do. 

I strutted up to the ticket booth. “One ticket for the 4am to Chicago please.” I said to the lady behind the window.” She looked up from the window and gave me a smile. “To Chicago? Alright, no problem.” She began to type some information into her computer before she hesitated. She looked up at me, and then said, “Are you going alone to Chicago, dear? That seems like a dangerous place for someone your age to be headed all on your lonesome.” “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be just fine in Chicago,” I replied. Then, with a warm, full feeling in my heart, I added, “Besides, my mom is there.”