by Amy Cross
I try to keep up, but as I stumble on a crooked paving slab, one of my shoes comes off. I try to stop and grab it, but my father pulls me along.
"Wait!" I call out.
"What the fuck is it now?" he shouts, yanking me over to him.
"My shoe!"
Sighing, he lets go of me for a moment and hurries back to my lost shoe, before turning and kicking it at me. I put a hand up to shield my face, and the shoe bounces harmlessly off my chest and lands on the sidewalk. Instinctively, I step back into it, and seconds later my father grabs my arm and continues to pull me along.
"Try to keep your fucking shoes on," he says firmly. "It shouldn't be that hard, or did you never learn to tie your goddamn laces?"
I want to reply to him, to tell him to go to hell, but I'm already starting to cry and I know that whenever I try to stand up for myself, I end up sounding like an idiot. It's better if I just keep my thoughts to myself and wait for him to lose this temper. After all, although I've never seen him become truly violent, I've always been worried that there's an extra edge to him, and I'm terrified that one day he'll go beyond the point of no return.
"So why don't you tell me what this is all about?" he asks as he marches me across the road. "Huh? Where do you think you're going?"
I open my mouth to reply, but the truth is, I don't know what to say. All the explanations I came up with earlier now seem so foolish, and I know he'd just rip my ideas apart. Ten minutes ago, I thought I was on the brink of escaping from my old life, and now I realize that I was just binding myself closer than ever. I hoped, for a brief moment, that I was smart and capable, and now it's clear that I'm just a dumb fantasist who gets these crazy ideas and then gets carried away.
"You really make it hard sometimes," he continues as we get closer to his car. "I try so hard with you, John, but it's as if you really don't care. I blame your mother, of course. She's kept you in a kind of bubble, and you've got no idea about how the real world works. Sometimes I really worry about how you're going to get through life."
"I'm sorry," I whimper, with tears in my eyes.
"Being sorry isn't enough," he replies, pushing me against the side of the car before walking around and pulling his keys from his pockets. "We're going to have to sort you out, boy. It's not too late. You're still young, and we can fix the way you see things."
As he gets into the car, I take a deep breath and try to prepare myself for the drive home. I'm well aware that I've probably made a rod for my own back, and I've got no doubt that my father is going to punish me when we get back to the house. Of course, I could always turn and run, and maybe I'd be luckier this time, but I guess I just have to accept that for now, I'm not going to be able to get away. One day, though, I'll escape from my father, and I'll leave everything behind so that I can start a new life.
I'll disappear completely and I won't let anyone ever find me again. In fact, I can already feel a new person bubbling away in my heart; someone smarter and stronger and more intelligent, someone who's ready to make his mark on the world.