The Elegy for My Father

          “Zoey, I just don’t understand you anymore.”

          I could hear my mom as she threw her door open and stormed out of her own room.

          “Maybe you just never understood to begin with.”

          I opened my bedroom door and poked my head out. My older sister, Zoey, had followed my mother out of the room and into the kitchen. My mom quickly turned around.

          “What is wrong with you?” she spat.

          “You wanted to know if I’d say anything. Well, that’s what I would say.” Zoey yelled and pointed to the piece of paper my mom was holding. “If you didn’t want to know, you shouldn’t have asked in the first place.”

         “He was your father!”

          And there it was: the “f” word. I knew my curiosity was wasted. Zoey and my mom only had fights like this over one matter and one matter alone. If it had been any other time, I would have simply closed my door and turned my television up louder. But I guess since he was gone, I decided to listen in a little longer.

          “You will not say this!” my mom yelled.

          Zoey walked up to my mom and leaned in close to her, speaking softer than she had been. I could still hear what she said though.

          “You make me go and, yes, I will.”

          With that, I watched my sister stomp down the stairs. The door slammed, so I assumed she left the house. Knowing my sister, she probably either went for a walk or out for a cigarette to calm herself. It could have been both though. My mom stood in the hallway for a moment, crumpling up the piece of paper she held. She tossed it into the garbage before going back into her room and locking the door.

          Hours went by and Zoey still did not come home. It wasn’t strange for her do to this though. She once disappeared for an entire weekend without letting anyone know where she was. I still haven’t figured out where she went that weekend come to think about it. Later that night when I went to take out the trash I half expected to find her sitting on the corner smoking or listening to her i-Pod, but she wasn’t there.

          It wasn’t until after midnight that I finally heard the front door open, followed by someone walking up the stairs. I lay on my bed watching a movie as I heard Zoey’s bedroom door open and close. My mom and Dylan, my younger brother, were already asleep. That was our little family; our little dysfunctional, falling apart family.

          There was my mom, Joan. Sean, my older brother, was the first child. He didn’t live with us anymore. He had moved out on his eighteenth birthday. My parents stopped speaking to him after that. He didn’t come around, and we never visited. The only one that stayed in contact with him was my older sister Zoey. Zoey was four years younger than Sean, and the only girl out for the four of us. Sean had been labeled as the trouble-making, black sheep of the family, and Zoey was well on her way of following right in his footsteps. Everyone thought she was simply acting out As for me, I was worried about her. She was always angry, and, even though I was the only one that ever heard it, she cried herself to sleep practically every night. Dylan was the youngest. He was cute and uncommonly polite. It’s still a wonder how he turned out like that considering the circumstances we grew up in. And then there was me.

          Around two in the morning, I heard a soft tapping at my door and Zoey whispered my name.

          “Eddie…?”

          The door opened slowly and she poked her head in. I lifted my head up, sighed, and nodded. She walked in and closed the door quietly. Carrying her blanket with her, Zoey laid down on the small sofa I had in my room. Zoey said she had started having nightmares. After having one, she would always come and sleep in my room.

          “So, you want to talk about it?” I said quietly.

          Zoey didn’t answer right away.

          “She wanted me to write a elegy for him.”

          I didn’t know what to say. After a moment of silence, she continued to speak.

          “She wants me to stand up in front of everyone tomorrow and tell them what a wonderful man he was and how much I’ll miss him now that he’s gone.” She said. “She wants me to lie. I can’t believe she even thinks I’m going.”

          “You’re not going?”

          Zoey sat up.

          “You are?”

          “I have to.” I said, staying on my back and staring up at the ceiling. “He was our father.”

          I didn’t need to look over at Zoey to tell that I had hurt her. She did what she usually did though and got angry.

          “I didn’t make it up.” She growled.

          “No one says you did Zoey.”

          “Then why are you acting like nothing ever happened? Like everything he did to us never happened?”

          “What’s the point now Zoey? He’s dead. It’s over. What’s the point in telling everyone if he’s gone for good now?”

          Zoey lied back down and rolled over on her side away from me. It was a few minutes before she gave me an answer.

          “Because I’m tired of being the only one who has nightmares.”

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           The next morning I woke up to find my suit hanging on the back of my door already ironed. I lied in bed for a good twenty minutes staring at the black suit before finally forcing myself out of bed.

          Zoey was no longer on my sofa. I assumed she had moved into her room before my mom could see her in my room. My mom wasn’t too keen on the idea of Zoey sleeping in my room, though I never understood why. I think it was more the fact that Zoey was having so many nightmares than her sleeping in my room that bothered her. My mom was always trying to keep the peace; keep things quiet. Zoey’s nightmares did not fit into that plan, especially considering the nature of the nightmares.

         Walking out of my room, I heard the shower running. Dylan was in the living room still in his pajamas watching cartoons. Zoey was sitting next to him, her arm around him. She had her eyes glued to the television. Strangely enough, she was dressed. She was not wearing the outfit my mom had set aside for her for the funeral, but she was dressed nonetheless. I had fully expected her to still her in bed. She looked like she had been up for hours by this point.

          My mom came out of the shower and went straight into her room. I had a funny way of being able to tell when arguments were going to occur in my house. I started having that funny feeling. I quickly headed back into my room, put on my i-Pod, and proceeded to get dressed. It wasn’t until Dylan came into my room and pulled on my jacket that I took my earphones out and realized my mom and Zoey were once again screaming at each other.

          “Will you make up your mind already!?”

          “Zoey, so help me, if you show up-“ my mom started.

          “What mom? What will you do?” Zoey interrupted. “Call the police? Have me arrested? For what, huh? Or… or maybe you’ll just disown me like you did with Sean!”

          Dylan pulled on my jacket again. Closing my bedroom door, I crouched down beside him.

          “Why are mommy and Zoey so mad at each other?” he asked.

          “I’m not sure.” I answered after a moment.

          “Is it because of dad?”

          “It might be.”

          Dylan lowered his head.

          “Because he’s dead or because of the things we’re not supposed to talk about?”

          I didn’t answer my little brother. I kept him in my room until I heard my mom call for us. She hurried us outside and into the car. I buckled Dylan in and my mom pulled out of the driveway.

          “Where’s Zoey?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

          My mom shifted the car into drive and sped off down the road. She didn’t give me an answer.

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          I wasn’t really paying attention to the service. I glanced around a lot, scanning over who was there. As I expected, none of my mom’s family came. Why would they come? My mom had not spoken to her parents in months, neither had she spoken to her older sister. They had spoken to Sean and Zoey though. Zoey had said they were all on their side when it came to my father.

          My father’s family was there of course; all of them; everyone that was left at least. My father’s parents had passed away already, as well as my aunt, his oldest sister. His other older sister and two younger brothers were there with their families. It was a little bit pathetic that this was the occasion that brought us all together after so many years. I didn’t know about everyone else, but I hadn’t seen my aunts and uncles and cousins for quite some time. The rumor was that they did not want to speak to us because of the things Sean and Zoey claimed about my father and maybe some things my mom said as well, but of course it had been Sean and Zoey who started that rumor so the validity of it was questionable.

          The priest said my father’s name again. I quickly snapped my head toward the head of the church. I had hoped to catch a glimpse of my brother and sister lurking in the shadows of the church, but I didn’t find them. They weren’t there; they really weren’t there. I stuffed my hand in one of my pants pockets, staring off into space again. I found it hard to be mad at them for not being there. In fact, I found myself envying them.

          “And now I’m told that Andrew’s son, Edward, would like to come up and say a few words.”

          My entire body froze. Yes, my mom had asked my to write something, which I had done, but I hadn’t come to terms with the fact that I would actually have to stand in front of everyone and speak. I hated speaking in front of crowds, even though it was just my family, and to be talking about my dead father to boot. Slowly, I made my way out of the pew and up toward the priest. The old man backed away so that I could stand at the podium.

          My stomach began to churn. I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this. I lowered my head so I didn’t have to look at everyone anymore.

          “I…” I started, and then my hand brushed the piece of paper in my pocket.

          All of a sudden, my stomach settled. I no longer felt as if I was going to vomit any second. My heart was still racing, but now from a strange new adrenaline that ran through me instead of fear and anxiety. I heard someone in the church sniffle and I looked up. I looked over at my mom. How could she be sitting there crying? And Dylan, he was so confused. I glanced over the rest of my family. They all sat there, mourning him. My aunt cried; my two uncles held their wives close to them; my older cousins stared at the coffin, keeping the tears back to the best of their ability.

          Straightening up, I realized something. This was more than pathetic, this was down right disturbing.

          None of them knew. If they only knew, none of them would be there. If they knew, the only reason anyone would have shown up would have been to spit on his grave. I looked at all of them and it pissed me off. None of them knew what he was really like. It pissed me off that Zoey, Sean, Dylan, my mom, and I were the only ones who had to carry the burden of the man my father was; that my mom had hidden it behind fake smiles and the ever popular phrase ‘I just want to keep things quiet’; that I was about to lie in front of them all to keep them from knowing the truth about what we went through.

          Why should we be the only ones who had to live with that? Why should they all get to live in that delusional world that I longed to be a part of?

          I got it; I finally go it. I knew why Sean and Zoey weren’t there. I knew why it mattered now. I couldn’t resist the urge to snicker, but I quickly stopped myself from laughing again. The priest looked over at me with that confused, concerned expression. I cleared my throat.

          “I had written something last night, at the request of my mother, to tell you all what kind of a man my father was and how much I was going to miss him now that he’s gone. But…”

          I glanced over the filled pews until I reached my mom’s gaze. From my pocket, I pulled out the crumbled up piece of paper.

          “I thought that maybe instead I’d try something else.”

          I could tell that my mom could not believe what I had just said. The sniffling stopped and the whispering began. When my mom finally saw the piece of paper I was holding, she mouthed that I was not to do this. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw someone step out of the hallway and move closer to the last row of pews. I flattened out the piece of paper the best I could and looked down at it.

          “This was actually written by someone else, and I’m hoping that she won’t be mad for me reading it. And before I start, I know that when I’m done you’ll all be asking me why I did this. Well, I’m going to give you the same answer she gave me when I asked her why it mattered.” I took a deep breath and looked up. “Because I’m tired of being one of the only ones who have nightmares.”

          Looking at the back of the church, I wanted to see Sean and Zoey walk in and remove the hoods they were wearing to cover their faces. If she had been there, Zoey would look more stunned than Sean, but they would both look happier than I had ever seen them. I wouldn’t let them know that I knew they were there. Tearing myself away from my delusion, I cleared my throat again and began reading from the piece of paper.

          “My father was Andrew Joseph Mahoney. Everyone knew him as the fun-loving, high-spirited guy. He was the guy that everyone loved, and he was everyone’s best friend. Congratulations, you’re all idiots.”

          The sounds of their gasps were priceless. Again, I suppressed a small laugh and continued reading.

          “None of you really knew Andrew Joseph Mahoney. But don’t worry, I’m here to explain. I’m here to educate. And I say, here and now with God as my witness, Andrew Joseph Mahoney was nothing more than an abusive, lowlife, piece of s**t drunk.”

          I looked up from the piece of paper at that point only because I heard someone whisper something. I saw one of my uncles get up and start to make his way out of the row he was sitting in. That’s when I thought to myself, ‘What would Sean do?’

          “Sit down Uncle Mike, and you will listen.” I yelled, pointing my finger at my uncle. “Sit down!”

          Surprisingly enough, my uncle did as I told him, looking as though he was a five year old who had just gotten yelled at for doing something bad. I was quite astonished, and quite pleased with myself. I took a moment to let the rush calm, and continued.

          “None of you knew him because none of you knew the things he did to us. Yes, he would tell you how Sean pitched a no hitter, and how,” I paused for a moment, needing to make a slight revision, “Zoey passed her road test; how I did in wrestling, and how Dylan was his pride and joy. He may have even told you how lucky he was to have such a great wife. But what he would never tell were the things he got the privilege to forget. For some reason, he wasn’t cursed with remembering those things, mostly because he was beyond drunk at the time of committing them.

          “He didn’t tell you that somehow it was our fault that our mother worked nights and to punish us, he would make us stand in his room all night and watch him sleep. And if we sat down, we’d regret it. He didn’t tell you how he would make us stand outside in the middle of the night, barefoot and in our pajamas, in the winter, in the rain because we apparently disappointed him. He didn’t tell you that the one time Sean forgot to do his dishes before going out, he whipped Sean with his belt for a good hour so bad that Sean had to wear a shirt in the pool throughout that entire summer just to cover up the scars. He didn’t tell you that he once put a knife to his chest and told his wife to push. He didn’t tell you that he once threw my face into a counter, which resulted in me needing two false teeth in the front, merely because I accidentally knocked over his glass of scotch. He didn’t tell you that he once told Dylan to take a good look at him because he might be hanging himself. He didn’t tell you that he told Sean that ever problem we ever had was all his fault because he didn’t live up to his expectations. He didn’t tell you that he told Zoey that she should have died in the car accident she had last year.”

          I had to stop after reading that last part. The smirks and smiles were gone. By that point, all I felt was hate; hate for a man that was supposed to be my father. I didn’t look up from the piece of paper. I took a deep breath and finished what was left.

          “None of you had to live with that, not until now. Now you have to live with what Andrew was as well. It’s not our burden to carry alone anymore. I know that some of you, if not all of you, are sitting there and saying to yourself that you don’t believe me; that your brother or cousin or uncle couldn’t have been the monster that I’ve just described for you. And I really don’t give a s**t if you do or if you don’t. For practically my entire life, I was afraid to go home. None of you will ever understand that feeling. Andrew Joseph Mahoney was my father. And I have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

          I folded the piece of paper and stuffed it back in my pocket. I finally looked up from the podium at everyone. I didn’t take the time to read their expressions. At that point, I no longer cared. I walked toward the aisle and headed for the door. I heard people turning around, watching me exit the church. I just didn’t care anymore. I found myself smiling again as I pushed open the door.

          There wasn’t any sun in the sky; there were far too many clouds to see any sky. It wasn’t raining yet, but it was on its way. I took off my jacket, loosened my tie, and undid the first three buttons of my white shirt. Draping my jacket over my shoulder, I started walking down the steps. I only stopped when I heard someone whistle at me. I looked to my left, seeing someone walk toward me with a cigarette in his mouth.

          “Sean.”

          My brother smiled, taking the cigarette from his lips and tossing it to the ground. He stepped on it and made his way toward me. On his way over, he motioned me to look to me right. I did, and there was Zoey. She too tossed her cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. The two of them reminded me of the McManus brothers from that movie The Boondocks Saints. Both of them were wearing long black coats and had cigarettes tucked behind an ear. When my sister was next to me, she stuffed her hands in her coat pockets and smiled at me.

          “You know, I think I liked it better coming from your perspective.” She said.

          “It wasn’t half bad.” Sean added.

          I laughed, shaking my brother’s hand. I felt my sister nudge me and I turned to her. Her smile was still there, but she looked softer.

          “Why’d you do it Eddie?” she asked.

          Before I had the chance to answer her, the doors to the church opened again. All three of us looked up too see half our family storming out of the church. My mom rushed out first. She wasn’t crying anymore. She just looked at me. I couldn’t really make out the exact expression on her face. She looked stunned, but there was something else there. My Uncle Mike stopped immediately upon seeing my sister and brother, and so did the rest of my family. The next thing I saw was my brother and sister smile and wave. My family would have said that they did it out of spite. I think they did it because there just wasn’t anything else for them to feel at the moment. All they had left was a smile and a wave.

          Dylan pushed through everyone and stopped right in front of my mother.

          “Hi Sean! Hi Zoey!”

          No matter what, my brother Dylan always sounded so innocent. Sean and Zoey finger-waved at him, smiling again. I felt Sean tap my arm.

          “We’ll talk to you later.”

          With that, Sean and Zoey turned to leave. They didn’t get to walk far before my mom spoke up.

          “Zoey, where are you going?”

          I turned to see my sister stop before opening the car door. She took a moment and the looked back at my mom.

          “I moved most of my stuff over to Sean’s apartment last night before I came home. I’ll be over to get the rest of it in a few days.”

          “You selfish little brat.” my Uncle Mike spat.

          Zoey didn’t answer. She simply smirked at my uncle and opened the car door.

          “How could you do this to your mother?”

          “Because maybe if she loses enough, she’ll finally understand that keeping things quiet causes more damage than telling people what happened to us.” I said, watching my sister get into Sean’s car.

          Sean resisted a laugh, I could tell. My uncle shut up immediately. Dylan took my hand as the car sped off down the street. I heard my mom start to cry again. I could always tell the differences in her cries. She wasn’t crying because she was hurt or felt betrayed.

          She was crying because she knew I was right.

Reviews

[Aislinn Gryffin ((Ashes..]

Wow. THIS WAS TERRIFIC!!! i am so glad you entered this in my contest and therefore gave me the honor of reading it. This was FANTASTIC!!!
one mistake...i believe its "eulogy" although i probably misspelled it.