A true story.
Monday:
The girl returned home, soaked in nicotine and satisfied from a night of painting and musicals. The sun beat down on the driveway and house, hot like fire, anger, and a joint that's burned down to the last dregs of marijuana. The mail sat on the front porch and included a record which she had ordered several days prior. Time passed slowly in the house. She sat talking with her mother. They sang songs and prepared the dinner that the family was to consume that evening. Moving from room to room, the girl glimpsed a figure through the glass of the front door. First she felt curious and then slightly unnerved in the way that most people who were extremely shy as children do then a star flashed on the strangers shirt. A policeman. Immediately thoughts raced through her mind, "Is this about the pot last night? The mushrooms? The marijuana upstairs in the prescription bottle? Perhaps I ran a red light Or could it be all of the underage drinking?" She alerted her mother to the man of the law standing outside their home. Restraining the family dog, the mother went to see what he wanted. She shortly returned and went to get the girl's father, her husband.
The man had heavy steps that creaked on the stairs and led him out into the yard to the waiting police officer who was now accompanied by another, female, officer. The girl and her mother watched from the front windows. Her mother muttered that if this was about the problem with the truck, he should wait until he could meet with his lawyer and then went outside to say just that. The girl went to get binoculars in order to see better.
The man told his wife, "Go back inside; I'll deal with you later." Once more, mother and child huddled at the window, passing the binocular between them as the man was hand-cuffed and placed in the rear seat of the squad car. The woman once again went outside. The girl watched and waited but could not hear what was being said. Her mother returned, holding the man's watch, wallet, and pocket change. Her face was as white as the jasmine petals that grew on the vines that were slowly taking over the south side of the house. Dinner was forgotten.
Tuesday:
The details of why the man was arrested slowly surfaced through the night and the morning light brought many questions with it. What he said he did and what he actually did were related but the latter was far worse.
simple battery
The mother's other children flocked to the house. She and the adopted daughter went to the bail hearing where they proceeded to get a petition for the father to be Baker Acted. Many phone calls were made and later in the afternoon, the girl and her mother returned to the court house to find the result of their petition secured that the man would not return home for at least three days. The rest of the day was lost in the bottom of a bottle of honey-wine. Sickeningly sweet in contrast to what the next day would bring.
Wednesday:
The girl slept late due to the alcohol consumed and when she woke, she hurriedly dressed and then accompanied her mother to a divorce lawyer. The office was in a building that looked like someone's home. The inside was bright blue and covered in nautical decor. The lawyer for whom the establishment was named opened the door. He was big but friendly. His teeth were spaced like dominoes and he wore a tasteless tie. The girl and her mother sat down and stayed there for the next three hours as the man told them what to expect in the divorce (as if the woman didn't already know, having already been divorced once). Notes were jotted onto legal paper and plans made. The price of the lawyer ($250 an hour) and the duration of the divorce noted. Exhausted, they left for home.
Thursday:
The girl arose earlier than her habit in order to go visit her father at the mental institution. She showered and tried to look presentable. She practiced what she would say and how. She left the house a little early.
The winding road leading to the institution was shaded by trees and quiet. She parked the car and smoked a cigarette before going inside. The woman at the reception asked her name and then peeled off a bright orange visitor tag which she then handed to the girl. The waiting area was filled with people. Some visitors, some recently released patients and it was easy to differentiate between the two. Men tried to joke but their laughs fell flat like popped balloons. A woman softly cried in the corner. In groups of one of two, people were called back. Finally the girl was alone in the waiting area. The door through which all of the other visitors had gone opened and a plump nurse with a pleasant smile entered. She looked around the room until her eyes fell on the girl. She approached and stated, "I'm sorry. He is not ready to see you today but he sent this note." She pressed a folded piece of blue paper into the girl's palm. Her eyes quickly processed the words, more than a few of them misspelled but unmistakably from her father's hand. Hot tears pricked at her eyes but did not fall on the squarish letters adorning the page. She refolded the paper and walked back to her car.
She decided then that if she could not see her father that day, she would try to see as many of the men she loved as possible, in order of how long she had known them. The first stop brought her to Tampa and the boy she had to to love, hate, love, hate, and finally love all over again. It also brought her to tears on his front porch where she shook and cried over the railing, onto her cigarette, and finally onto his shoulder. She left shortly after and worked her way to the home of a boy with whom she had shared many things. They sat together on his bed and spoke in hushed voices. They made plans for the future, talked about the past, but did not cry. They embraced and she left again. Finally she went to the home of another friend where they sat on the third story, smoked and bitched. This friend surprised the girl with her warmth and acceptance. Though close to tears, the girl did not cry. After her friend fed her dinner the girl returned home.
Friday:
The girl woke early again and went to the institution. Again she signed in, donned the yellow badge, and was the last person in the waiting room. Fearing a repeat of the previous day, she sat a little straighter, her shoulders facing the door. A nurse appeared and asked for whom she had come. Soon she was being led through door after electronically locked door, around desks, and then to another waiting room of sorts. Her keys were taken away and then she was taken through three more rooms. The nurse left her when they found her father. He was leaning over the nurses' station, dressed in a polo, jeans, and socks. His hair, usually sprayed into place so well that a hurricane could not move it, was loosely pushed back. The girl, hoping to avoid any awkwardness, hugged him. Another nurse appeared and led them to a small room where two men sat behind two desks. The man hugged the girl again but this time he started to shake and she felt the heat and dampness of his tears against his neck as he repeatedly apologized. She did not cry. They sat down and the man explained that he was sick, the psychiatrist had given him anti-psychotics, he was sorry, so sorry, and on and on. Several times, his face scrunched with the effort of not crying again. The girl explained that she still loved him but could not, would not, should not respect a man that does not respect women. The visiting hour passed quickly and the girl had to leave. She returned home where she sat with her mother in front of a television which played a variety of commercials all reminding them that father's day was coming up. They slept to avoid the question:
what will happen next?