1995: Forbidden Words

I scan the cupboards for something to eat. Nearly empty. Except for a Hostess box. I rip open a ring ding and shove the whole thing in my mouth. Some of the white filling oozes out the corners. I wipe my cheek with my index finger. Gross. Also, yum!

Dad approaches me as I gulp the last bit. He smiles. “Oh good. You found the last cake. Daddy saved that for you. I ate the other one earlier. Might be another bad Christmas. We could go to my sister’s house, but fuck that! You know I’d rather stay here and starve. And Daddy loves you for staying here and starving with me.”

My stomach growls in the middle of Dad’s tirade.

“Anyways, they’ll probably call and invite us again, but ever since the time we were homeless, and my own family turned us away, so we had to sleep in our car—our fucking car—in the dead of winter, your Father never really wanted to be around those people. That and they make the goddamn turkey so dry.” At least they make a turkey.

I nod, while gazing across the room at the crooked Gabazarian memo hung by the phone. He changed the tack from blue to green. What the fuck is he up to?

“Hey, Jenny. Let’s you and Poppa go rent a movie—like we always do on the first day of your vacation. No cable but we got a VCR.”

I nod. “Okay, Dad.”

“I guess that great hack me up movie—Die Hard with a Vengeance—just came out!”

“Dad, I bet it’s already rented out. Everyone will want to see that one.”

Dad’s hands move in a blur towards my abdomen. Bam. Pow. Ouch! He continues, pushing me into the laundry closet. I shield my face while he jabs my ribs. Even through my coat, his blows are lethal.

“You know what this beating is for? For fucking saying ‘I can’t!’” For doing wha—? Oww…I never said can’t…

“Daddy’s teaching you a valuable lesson here. It’s too bad at your age, I still have to do this, but maybe you’re stubborn like your cunt of a mother.” I’ll kill you one day. If I can ever figure out how.

“What you should have done was to think positive. Maybe they don’t have the movie, but you’re never gonna get anywhere in life with that shitty attitude.” Oh, fuck. You should have known better. Always keep your mouth shut. Say less. Nod more. This is going to hurt later if he lets you live.

When Dad feels satisfied, he retreats from my slumped body. “Come on. Get up. And I better not see any tears, either. Fucking—big—baby is what you are.”

What I’m trying to do is hide my glare, you bastard. You’ll pay for this one day.

On the ride to the video store, winter wind travels through the rusted floorboards, numbing my toes. Fucking Mary Jane shoes.

When we arrive at Hollywood Video, one copy of Die Hard rests against shelf. Of course. He had to get his way. At least this will distract him for the night.

On the way out, Dad grabs two free bags of popcorn. As we drive up Glen Street, I flinch, inching closer to the door. “Lock your door, Jenny, before you fall out.” I glance at him. I wouldn’t get that lucky.

“Daddy’s not gonna hit you again. I made my point. So long as I know you’ll never say that you can’t do something, ever again.”

I nod, while pressing my right shoulder hard against the window.

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