Let Me Off This Ride
A fictional story
She shuddered, goosebumps peppering her skin, an involuntary reaction that she still hadn’t managed to conquer.
She knew what she was looking at, what he was clutching in his hand.
And it meant nothing good could come of this night.
She had wished it would stick this time. Wished he’d manage to dig deep and find the strength, through God or himself or the look in her own eyes when he drank her life away.
It had been two days.
Two days since he’d had a drink.
Her heart was past breaking. She felt a cold numbness in its place.
In fact, she wasn’t sure which emotion she even would have felt, assuming she was capable of such things anymore.
Relief?
Sadness?
Anger?
Fear?
She had no idea which made sense, but she had felt them all.
And she had trained herself to go numb in moments like these.
Emotions weren’t something that could ever help her situation.
She was twelve years old, and she had long ago realized there was no end to this cycle.
She had five years, eight months, and four days.
That was the time left between this moment and her first chance at freedom.
But that was still so far away.
She used to hide when she saw his long fingers wrapped around a glass or a bottle or a can.
She used to pray that God would make her invisible to him, that she would be cloaked in a fog that hid her from his blurred eyes.
She used to do a lot of things, when she was little and didn’t know any better.
Before she realized no one was listening to her broken whispers uttered from the back of her closet, beneath the desk, on the roof, or anywhere else she thought she could possibly be hidden.
But she didn’t hide anymore.
There was no point because there was no possible way to escape.
Still, she didn’t want to be the target of the day.
She was the only one home now, her older siblings having long fled the house, never looking back.
Forgotten.
Abandoned.
Alone.
But that was okay. She didn’t need anybody anyway.
She wasn’t a baby anymore, and she knew what she needed to do to make it till that long-awaited moment when she would put this place behind her.
He turned her way, the anger already building in his stance.
She didn’t know what demons he was facing. Why the anger came like it did.
Truth be told, she didn’t care.
She just wanted him to stop.
She wanted to get off the merry-go-round, the ride she never asked or wanted to be on.
She wanted steady.
Inside herself and in the home she never chose to be born into.
She saw the color rising in his cheeks.
The pacing was starting now too.
Momma wasn’t home, which was probably best, since the combination of the two of them was a nightmare of epic proportions that she didn’t have the energy to deal with right now.
She forced herself to take a deep breath, willing her heart to slow down.
“Where did you put the remote?” he raged at the room in general.
She knew very well he hadn’t even noticed her yet.
“Daddy, you left the remote on your table,” she said, slipping into the proper mode.
Pacification.
Peacekeeper.
Problem solver.
She knew the role she needed to play.
And she knew the outcome she was aiming for. It was the same one she used to pray wouldn’t happen, when she was too little to understand that it was for the best.
If she could just keep him calm through the next three or four drinks, he would “fall asleep” in his chair.
He would sleep it off.
No ducking. No screaming. No panic.
By now, she was no longer afraid of the “sleep” she couldn’t wake him from.
She no longer cried because she thought he was dead.
She saw it for the blessing it was these days.
Peace.
Momentary and not to be trusted, but peace just the same.
She felt her face stretch into a smile as she marveled at the numbness in her belly, the disconnected feeling, as if she were floating above herself, watching in awe as she said just the right thing.
“Do you want me to get you another beer, Daddy?” she asked.
“Yeah, baby girl, wouldja?” he mumbled, dropping into his chair and fumbling with the remote control, knocking it to the floor.
“I’ve got it, Daddy,” she was quick to say, as she reached to pick it up and lay it back in his hand before he could start down the path of “Can’t anything ever ******* go right!”
She moved into the kitchen, eager to help him get started on the next one in hopes he’d never notice when Momma came home.
“Five years, eight months, and four days,” she whispered to herself, fighting the tears that were threatening to rise up.
She didn’t have that luxury, to give in to the tears.
Numbness, remember?
This was her life.
She had no choice but to live it.
“Five years, eight months, and four days.”
She grabbed the beer from the fridge, her stomach lurching as her hand connected with it.
She closed her eyes and fought the wave of panic building in her chest.
She hated the sight, the smell, the feel of it.
Her stomach heaved again, and she forced her smile to brighten.
She could do this.
“Here you go, Daddy,” she said, her smile stretched wide as she sat down to watch TV, pretending they were just a normal family.
She never asked for this.
“Find that one show,” he muttered, throwing the remote her way.
“I know just the one,” she said with enthusiasm as she snatched it out of the air, just in time to save her head. She beamed at him, as if there was nothing she’d rather do than sit with him and watch as he drank himself into a stupor.
She was careful to keep the right balance of happiness in her tone when she announced she’d found what he was looking for on the TV.
Her stomach rolled and her heart raced as she shoved that stupid little scaredy-cat girl down.
Why wouldn’t she just stay out of the way?
She was almost grown now, and she knew a truth that the little girl had not yet accepted.
She wasn’t allowed off this ride.
Even when it made her sick.
This was her story.
No one asked if she wanted to help write it, but it was hers just the same.
Five years, eight months, and four days.