Jas and Ann

Possible portion of a book..?

My father was never great at grieving or dealing with his emotions. So when my mom died of cancer, when I was 6, he just held all of them in. As you can imagine that didn’t last very long. I didn’t really understand why mom was gone or when she was coming back but I knew better than to ask and thank God I didn’t.

On mom’s next birthday my father just lost control. I was scared so I tried to stay out of his way while he was destroying the house but I guess he spotted me. He looked at me for a second and the next thing I know he is in front of me. First just yelling, saying it was my fault mom died that if I wasn’t born everything would be so much better. I started to cry, he yelled again saying I wasn’t old enough to understand. “Yea but I miss her too… when is she coming back?” I tried to plea but it didn’t help. SMACK! He continued to hit me until I was crying on the ground. Then my father left the house and didn’t return until after I was in bed.

His hand hit my face for the first time that day but he didn’t hit me again for months. He would grab me by the arm and drag me to where he wanted me or throw stuff at me that almost never hit me and he yelled… a lot but no hitting. Well not until their anniversary anyway. I don’t remember much of that one. I have notice looking back that I don’t remember a lot of the episodes my father had. My father liked punching and most of them were aimed for my head, my doctors think that is why I don’t remember most of them or because I don’t want to.

My name is Jay and I had an abusive father. My doctor says it would help me to write everything out, so that is what I am doing. I lived with my father until I was 16 and after the trial and all the official crap I moved in with my aunt and uncle, Jason and Ann, who are also my legal guardians now.

The first time my father hit me was when I was 7. I was young enough to convince myself it was okay but old enough to remember. Fortunately for me I don’t remember much, probably do to my 4 conclusions. It was just a smack to the face, not much. However, the next time I can’t forget no matter how much I try. It was their anniversary and about 9:30 am is when everything started.  We were in the living room watching TV and only later did I make the connection that the commercial that came on was about some meeting site notifying “All singles everywhere to join now and find someone to marry by this time next year!...”  that triggered the attack. Before the commercial ends I am on the ground. He must have punched me because my face burns but I don’t remember seeing him move. Something collides with my stomach, his socked foot.  I hear his voice roar, “What do you think you are?...A filthy reminder of my lost, terrible life.” He then grabs me by the hair, I feel the sharp pain of the pull upward and wine trying to get him to snap back to reality. “What a whimper? What do you think I feel?”  He pulls his arm back and laughs at my flinch as he swings his fist and it hits my jaw. “I have to raise the one reminder of Her.”

The first real ‘beating’, as the police called it, occurred that night, I won’t bore you with any more details of the torturous night or of anything that night I don’t remember. Anyway, I discovered, that night, to never mess with my father again, nor should I spend any more time in his presence than I should have to. Something I have realized now after looking upon that night; my father never called my mom ‘mom’ or Emily, her name, or anything else but Her. Also he didn’t yell at me much after this, I’m not sure why, maybe he said all he needed to say or maybe he was no longer himself, no longer human… I don’t know and quite frankly, I don’t really care to know, it’s all over now and that is that.

After the first ‘beating’ I was mostly only around my father at dinner or when he called me to him to ‘talk’. His ‘talks’ consisted of telling what I’m doing wrong or apologizing for the night before. Up until I was in high school I was only hit on occasion such as birthdays, anniversaries, or that same stupid commercial when I happen to be in the room.  And the ‘beatings’.. okay you know what I don’t call them beatings, that is what the court called them so from here on out I’m calling them what I have always called them: retributions. I know is a big word, some called me smart when I was younger but I honestly don’t think so, maybe it is because I don’t remember being smart. Anyway, after all the retributions, until I was in high school, were always followed by apologies.

Once I graduated middle school, everything seemed to changed. Less talking, no apologies, more retributions, more pain then less only until he realized I got used to it then pain again.

My life must sound horrible to you but for me it was just life. Yeah, it sucked but doesn’t everybody have a ‘suckey’ situation. I grew use to everything my father did, I learned how to react, talk, live, and even breath differently after my mother died and then again after I started high school.

You maybe thinking by now where Jas and Ann were at this time, well they were in Wyoming and we were in Florida.  

Author's Note

So I have had this idea for a book for a while now. I wrote this once and left it for a while, when I reread it all the ideas started coming back. I haven't decided if I'm going to continue it. Let me know your thougths

Reviews

[Sara Lufrano]

Hi Hi!

It'll be a good story to continue, I'll be interested in continuing the read.

There's conflicting information and details in the first three paragraphs to the rest of the story. It seems like it restarts in the fourth paragraph.

Thanks for the read!