The Seastone Chair

Good Girl

You’ve received a letter from your dad, after 30 years

I stared at the scrawl in the upper left-hand corner of the envelope, a cold chill running down my spine, a drastic contrast to the ninety-degree weather. I hated him. I had never loathed anyone the way I did him. He made sure of that. My mind went back to an eighteen-year old me, cradling the telephone in my hand, curled up in a ball on the landing to the basement as his vicious words ran in a loop through my mind, uncontrollable sobbing wracking my body.

“How dare you speak to my mother that way?” he screamed

“Me? You didn’t hear the things she said to me. The threats she made against my mother.”

“She has every right to feel that way. Your mother kept you from us.” He rationalized.

“That’s a lie. You knew where we were. Our address didn’t change until last year. That phone number is still the same!”

“You are going to call your grandmother and apologize. Right. Now,” he ordered.

“Not until she apologizes to me for saying she wants my mother dead.”

“That’s never going to happen. If you want me in your life you will call her this instant,” he threatened. My father was great with threats and instilling fear.

“I won’t do it!” I defiantly said.

“Fine, have it your way. I curse you and your mother and hope you never have a moments peace.”

I shook the memory from my mind and tried to calm my ragged breathing. I hated reliving that moment, seeing myself sobbing and shaking from my father’s words. That was the last time I’d heard from him, until today. Since then, I had married, had children of my own who were now married. I didn’t understand why he would suddenly write to me some thirty years later. I was surprised he even knew my address. My hands shook as I held the letter and stared at the black writing against the white envelope, the black ink like a claw trying to scratch at my heart and open old wounds again.

The thought of opening that envelope and reading more of his threats was too much for me. I set the letter down and went back to my day, vowing that perhaps someday I may eventually get around to reading it.

~~~

Every time I walked past the little table in the corner of the living room that letter entered my line of vision. It had been a week now, and I was no closer to wanting to open it then I had been the day it arrived in my mailbox. There really wasn’t anything he could do to me now. I’d led a good life, he couldn’t take that from me. I had learned at a young age that I was on my own, that I would only ever know half of my family and I’d managed to deal with those feelings over my lifetime. He was the past, and it was best that he stayed there.

“Hey, mom,” my oldest said coming through the front door.

He was so handsome, just like his father, always with a welcoming smile. It always amazed me that my children had turned out well, knowing the darkness that coursed through my veins from my father’s side of the gene pool.

Zane gave me a hug, and I held on a little tighter than I should have. He pulled back and looked down at me. “Everything all right?”

I nodded. “Yes of course. What brings you by on a Saturday morning?”

“The boys are thinking about playing softball this summer. I was wondering if I still had any of my old gear here.”

I laughed. I could just picture my grandsons in their little uniforms, running the bases, stuffing their cheeks with that awful chewing gum that is supposed to resemble chewing tobacco as they gave the pitcher the stink eye, just like their father had done so long ago. “Oh, yes. You still have a box in the garage of that stuff.”

“You know, mom, you can start throwing some of that old junk away.”

“Really? And then when you popped in looking for it, wouldn’t you be disappointed?” I shot him a mother knows best look.

Zane laughed. “Good point.”

We headed out to the garage and pulled the cardboard box from the shelf. Zane rummaged through everything and decided he’d better take the entire box just in case. They always gave me a hard time for hoarding things, but nine times out of ten they were always glad that I had.

He set the box next to the small table as I went into the kitchen to make some coffee. As the Keurig spit out its first cup of fresh brew, I noticed Zane standing in the doorway.

“You haven’t opened it?” I shook my head. “Why not?” he asked.

“You know why not. I have nothing to say to that man.” I couldn’t even bring myself to call him what he was.

“That man is your father. Maybe he feels bad and wants to make amends. Maybe he’s sick and dying and needs to say he’s sorry before he dies. Have you ever stopped to consider that?”

I loved my boy, but I could never drill into his thick skull the heartache of being abandoned as a child, or the torture of what he’d put me through growing up with his impromptu degrading visits. There were just some things I couldn’t talk to anyone about.

“It’s not worth the paper it was written on, Zane. Let it go.” I turned back to the Keurig, switching coffee mugs when I heard a sound that stopped me cold. I didn’t need to turn around to know Zane had opened it. Just the tearing of the envelope prickled down my spine, sending my heart fluttering in a panic. I despised the anxiety that washed over me when it came to my sperm donor.

“Well, he doesn’t live far, and he’s a diabetic, who didn’t take care of himself. Doesn’t look like he’s doing well and he’s asking to see you.”

“Put it where it belongs, in the garbage please.”

As the machine sputtered out the second cup of coffee, my son wrapped his arms around me. “Look, I will even go with you if you want. I don’t want you regretting this later if you choose to do nothing.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I appreciate your concern, but trust me, I have no regrets where he’s concerned.” I pulled out of his embrace, picked up his mug and turned to hand it to him.

~~~

I gripped the steering wheel so tight my knuckles ached and turned white. I had no idea what possessed me to show up here like this. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just seriously let all this crap go and move on with my life? I’d pretended for decades that the man was dead, so dredging all of this up now made no sense to me. Yet, here I was doing just that. I knew there was a small part of me that wanted to see him suffer, to rub in my successes after he’d so cruelly cursed me, to inflict just a little taste of his own medicine, even knowing that revenge wasn’t always so sweet.

I didn’t have to go in, no one knew I was coming here in the first place. I could easily just pull away and put it all behind me.

“Oh, good lord, what in the hell is the matter with me? He’s just a stupid old man. He cannot harm me anymore,” I chastised myself.

I grabbed my purse off the passenger seat, got out of my vehicle and approached the dark looking house. All the blinds were closed, broken furniture sat on the crumbling porch, weeds were growing up through the sidewalk and the lawn. The way things looked, he might not even be here, which wouldn’t surprise me one bit. He loved to dangle things in front of me and then snatch them away. It was his pattern, his way of toying with my emotions. Still, I pressed on, moving closer to the door, my heart thundering in my ears.

I hated being here, hated myself for coming and hated him for reaching out once again. I knocked on the dark and depressing black door, a reminder of something evil lurking beyond, trying to come up with something to say to him when we were face to face. My legs began to shake and the urge to run took over. I turned away so quickly I didn’t even know I possessed the ability. Just as I hit the first step, the creak of the opening door stopped me in my tracks.

“Hello?” the deep voice said.

My heart stopped, the voice I remembered well trickling down my spine like nails against a blackboard. It was too late to turn back now, so I turned to face my father, the man who degraded me, toyed with me and abandoned me.

Upon first inspection, he did that thing he always did when it came to me. He looked me over from head to toe, those beady brown eyes penetrating every inch of my form. This was just another, Damn I do good work moments. I cannot think of anything I despised more at that moment than having him looking at me like I was his next conquest, some trophy he’d won, something to use and toss away like garbage when it suited him.

“Father,” I said, jutting my chin nice and high, doing my best to calm my ragged heartbeat.

He sat in a wheelchair now, his six-foot plus frame suddenly looking so small to me and I couldn’t help but produce a fraction of an evil smile at the sight of him losing that towering presence he loved to use to keep people in line.

“I knew you’d come,” he whispered, those brown eyes filling with tears. “You are my good girl.”

It took everything inside of me to still myself against the onslaught of emotions that were threatening to explode. I felt nothing. I would feel nothing toward this man.

He backed into the doorway, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “Come, come inside, Tessa. We’ve much to discuss.”

My head began screaming no, but my body did as I was asked, putting one foot in front of the other, moving me closer to the depths of the devil’s lair. I chuckled slightly at my last thought and crossed the threshold. The house itself had a creepy silence to it, not even the sound of a ticking clock could be heard. Next to a recliner were medicine bottles all lined up with half empty cups of water. My mind went into a tug of war of sorts, part of me glad he was now suffering, the other, the good part of me feeling sorry for him. He was my father after all.

He rolled over toward the recliner and motioned for me to sit across from him on the beat-up leather black couch. I did, taking in the surroundings of his home. It was a dump, the old red carpeting was worn, bunched and hadn’t seen a vacuum in months. Thick dust sat on every table top, with rings from glasses and crumbs of food dotting them. And then I noticed something that made me turn up my nose. The smell. At first, I couldn’t decide if it were from rotting food, but soon realized it was coming from my father. By his matted hair, rumpled pajama’s and gray shaggy beard, it was obvious he hadn’t showered in a long while. Damn my heart for starting to pity the old man.

“You got my letter,” he said interrupting my thoughts.

“I did.”

“You were always the good girl, doing whatever was asked of you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist coming to see me to make amends,” he said, a sly smile crossing his lips.

I took a deep breath, his rancidness filling my nose with that awful smell and making my stomach churn.

“You look like you could use some help around here.”

He chuckled and then began to cough, reached for the water glass beside him and took a sloppy sip. The sound grated on my nerves. “I fired the stupid bitch who thought she knew how to take care of me.”

I rolled my eyes, hating the way he spoke. Once a foul-mouthed truck driver, always a foul mouth trucker. “Why did you want to see me?”

“I thought it was time. Besides, you owe me an apology.”

Anger raced through my veins like molten lava. “I owe you? That’s rich!”

“You are my daughter. It is your job to take care of me, to be here for me now,” he said, getting a rise out of my reaction.

I stood. “It was your job to take care of me as I grew up, but you didn’t do that, did you? No, that was too much to ask of you. And when you did decide to come around, what did I get?”

“I treated you decent,” he proclaimed.

That man didn’t have one decent bone in his body. “You wouldn’t know decency if it bit you on the ass,” I muttered.

He laughed again, loving that he could get to me so easily. My hatred for this man began to bubble and I knew the smart thing to do was get the hell out of there.

“Oh, Tessa, my color-blind child. What would you have preferred? Living out of my truck and traveling the country with me? You know what would’ve happened. You can only block out so much of our past.”

A slow tremble began in my legs, moving up my body. I had to sit back down as my childhood horrors whipped through my mind. “You abused me.”

“Tessa, Tessa. I loved you. I gave you all of my love and affection, and your mother and mine both hated it. They were so jealous of the way I doted on you, the way I put you above them. You are my good girl.”

The memories assaulted me then, him always referring to me as his good little girl, the words making me cringe. I tried to stop the images of this huge man doing things to me that I knew were wrong out of my mind, but I couldn’t. I closed my eyes, shaking my head, rocking back and forth.

“You remember. I always know you remember our special time by the gentle rocking. You are just like a little boat out at sea, letting the waves carry you.”

A hand on my inner thigh made me jump as my eyes flew open wide in disbelief. I pushed him away, scrambling back into the couch, my legs curling into my chest as I wrapped my arms around myself. “Don’t touch me!” I yelled. Tears streamed down my face, burning their way out of my eyes and blurring my vision. It was then that I heard a distinct sound and then the clasp clicking into place. I was his prisoner. Again. Cold metal dug into my ankle as I fought to regain control. I frantically wiped away the stinging tears and looked down to see the handcuff on my leg and my father sitting there with that damn proud smile of his.

“I am your father, and you will obey me, Tessa. Just like you used to.”

I shook my head, couldn’t believe I’d forgotten all of the pain he’d caused me as a child, how he tormented me. I scrambled off the couch and tried to get to the door, the handcuff preventing me from taking more than two steps before it jerked me down onto the nasty carpet. I looked up at him and to my horror, he stood.

It was all a ruse. There was nothing wrong with him, he wasn’t the invalid I thought him to be.

“Now that we are together again, no one will take you away from me.”

He turned to the pill bottles and put a few into his hand, then knelt down in front of me. I held my jaw shut tight, desperate to make sure none of those drugs made it past my lips, but he covered my nose with his big hand and I struggled to breathe. Gasping for that one breath with my mouth open was the opportunity that he needed. He dropped the pills into my mouth and then held my jaw tight.

“That’s Daddy’s good little girl.”
WC: 2897

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