Damion

by Leanne Davis

  High-pitched. Blood-curdling. Ear-splitting. Brain-snapping. The noise she creates is a cacophony of some of the most ungodly sounds on the face of the earth. They’re also the most emotion-evoking. My frustration reaches a level I never experienced when dealing with any adult. My anger also rises exponentially. It’s a desperate need to make her quiet. I have to pause and suck in a deep breath. I can’t surrender to it. Over the years, I wanted to, but I really can’t. I mean, I’m a logical, decent person, and I’m the adult so I need to look past my exhaustion and rage that my daughter’s screaming and crying always brings out in me.

  “Dayshia… honey… please, please come here. Or… stop… Just… please, honey… come here…” Oh God, please stop crying. I’m lying flat on my stomach so I can see her. I finally flop my head on the floor, no longer fighting the impulse to bash my forehead onto the wood flooring. Just to make her stop. To end the screaming. The noise. The upset condition that Dayshia can’t emerge from. No matter what I do, time after time, we invariably end up here. No matter how hard I try to run offense against these tantrums… we always end up here.

  Her crying is unpredictably loud, long and voraciously beyond solace. Nothing gets through to her when she gets like this. Nothing. No one. Not me. Not my mom. Not my dad. Not Devon or Claudia.

  With my face smashed on the floor, Ireena’s loss again ripples through me. The grief and shock hover behind my eyes, even though it’s been a year and a halfsince her unexpected passing. I should have processed it by now and started to heal. No. It still hurts. I can’t believe I’m a single parent who has the final say and responsibility for my daughter. All alone. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  Then the unkind thought enters my brain. How it started? Maybe that’s why it was destined to end like this.

  Was Dayshia hysterical because she lost her mother when she was barely a year? Were these epic tantrums the result of her feeding off my anxiety and lack of confidence—almost every single day—about what I’m doing? Am I failing Dayshia? What am I missing that I don’t realize I’m missing yet? What did I do that left my daughter shrieking and crying uncontrollably?

  Dayshia doesn’t stop. I glance at my watch. It’s already been twenty-five minutes. Another three minutes creep by. It feels like three days. No, three weeks. I finally scoot over to her, crouching under the side end table that is tucked beside a couch and shelf. I reach Dayshia and grab her ankles to gently scoot her towards me. I remain gentle, but firm. She goes ballistic. As I knew she would. My stomach twists and turns. She flips and flops, kicking her legs violently. She gets one foot free and flips onto her stomach where she shakes and shivers. Her entire body convulses as her screaming gets harsher and louder. She must have a sore throat from all that screaming.

  I knew my dragging her toward me would set it all off, making it worse than the last twenty-plus minutes which were already intolerable. I scoot back on my knees and grab her slippery, convulsive, little body. She weighs all of twenty-eight pounds. I lift her to my chest as she starts flinging her head and arms. If I don’t grasp her tightly, she could so easily slip out of my grip. God, I hate these moments more than any others in my life.

  I try soothing her. Baby talk. Shushing and jiggling her. I grip her in a hug that makes her resist me more. I finally give in. I take her to her room and set her on the floor, ever so gently. I glance around. There’s nothing observably dangerous to my quick scan. I leave her. Crying. Shaking. Shrieking. Overwhelmed. So emotionally overburdened that it seems like child abuse…. But I haven’t done anything to her. She’s doing this.

  I step back once, twice and then go through the door. She realizes what I’m about to do. I hurry and slip the door shut before her little fingers can get to it and she tries to pry it open. I hold the doorknob and effectively lock her in her room, alone.

  She goes ballistic. She screams and launches herself at the door. The frame shakes at her weight. She tugs on the doorknob. “Daddy… Daddy… pease… pease…” she screams on and on. She hits the door and it’s much worse than downstairs. I press my head on the door and worry that the burden of raising her is so far beyond me that I can’t possibly do it.

  Fuck. Tears press against my eyelids. I roll my forehead back and forth to her chanting, and the knocking of her kicks on the door. The sudden increase of her screeching.

  When? When will she finally wear herself out? What am I doing that is so wrong? Why does she do this? I can’t understand how anyone could have so much energy, passion, and stamina to keep it going so long and so loud.

  Before parenthood, I used to be a tough-assed dockworker who grappled with guys far tougher than me. It took muscles, endurance, strength and a rude, crude, crass vocabulary. There wasn’t one woman on my crew. And no politically correct culture down there. I held my own. I was widely considered one of the fucking roughnecks.

  Now? A tiny, pig-tailed, little girl has me by the throat and is strangling me.

  All I did to cause the chaos? We attended a Disney on Ice show. That’s it. The place we just got back from. I wanted to do something special for her after my week away. Leaning my head against the door, I sincerely wish now I skipped the entire event.

  In the car on the way home, her swirly, little Cinderella trinket broke. I don’t even know what the fucker actually was. It had a “handle” shaped like Cinderella, but her blonde head twirled and her “hair” was made of pretty, sparkly, rainbow tinsel. The thing just quit working. Fucking cost twenty-five dollars and it didn’t even make it home. She threw it down and I reached back on the floor of our car and hunted around until I found it. “It’s probably got a dead battery, honey. I’ll fix it when we get home.”

  I’m chill at this point. No big deal. Batteries? Sure. Got plenty of those. Ready for anything I can prepare for. But she kicks her legs. I see her face screwing up in the rearview mirror. I click the machine. It still has some battery life. The lights in it are glowing. But her head doesn’t twirl. Frick. It’s not the batteries. Dayshia knows it too.

  “Dayshia. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

  “’Nother?” she inquires as she sniffs and rubs her nose.

  “No. We can’t buy another. They’re… they’re closed now.”

  And off she goes. She cries and it’s loud but ignorable. I roll my eyes and wince. Crap. Kid has a tantrum over a broken toy, not that shocking or new. But by the time we get home and I drag her into the house, she runs and crawls under the table before she lets loose with renewed vengeance. By then, there are no words. Even if I fixed the fucker, it won’t stop her. She is off the rails now and once she passes that one point, and only I fully know that point, but oh, crap, do I know it, she can’t stop herself. It rules my life. My waking days. Once she gets past that point, there is no going back until she finally exhausts herself. Ten minutes? Forty? An hour? I never can say.

  And that’s what the last forty-five minutes of my life has been about. A fun, special outing that ends with her acting like this…

  The words my dad said so recently filter through my exhausted brain.

  “Damion?”

  I jerk upright when the voice pierces my stupor. She calls me out as the screaming remains on high. I flip around. Kaeja. I blink. How could she be standing in my darkened hallway? How did she get in? Why is she here?

  Being caught with your child screaming bloody murder as if you’ve tortured her isn’t the time I want any witnesses. Her tantrum is the kind most would judge you for allowing to continue. All the screeching and hitting of the door? How do I justify locking her in her bedroom because I can’t figure out what to do? I’m a total failure. And I really know it. But having a witness hammers it way too hard back home.

  Especially Kaeja.

  “What are you doing here?” I’m still holding the door handle on my daughter’s door. Keeping her inside. Fuck. What a creep this makes me. I want to release it, but I know she’ll go off again and start it all over if she sees me before she’s full
y calmed down. Now that we’ve come to this stage, I must let her work through it alone in her room.

  Kaeja’s expression is strained as her gaze darts to me, then her eyebrows furrow at Dayshia’s psychotic screaming.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that. I’m glad you’re here. I should have called… it’s been a long few days. Since we got back, things have been just like this. She’s overwhelmed by the change of being with Mom and Dad and then back here. I tried to take her to Disney on Ice for a special treat and it just went wrong…”

  Screams punctuate it all.

  “Damion, what’s going on? Why is she screaming like that?” Kaeja nods at the door and steps closer.

  “Sometimes. Yeah. You know…” I drift off, holding the door still. “I know it sounds bad, but she has these tantrums and once they get this far, nothing soothes or calms her… she needs time. Sometimes it takes a long time. But if I open this door, it will send her off again and everything will start over.”

  Quiet follows my explanation. Then she says softly while stepping closer to me, “Wow, that’s tough.”

  It’s humiliating. I can’t help my own daughter.

  She adds, “But I don’t know what to do or how to care for toddlers. Dayshia is the only baby I ever dealt with on any level.”

  “I’m not sure this is entirely usual,” I mutter but I don’t really know. Now, with Devon moved out, it’s all on me. All the time. Which is as it should be. I want it to be. I just feel like I fail every moment of every single day and that’s an exhausting way to live.

  I’ve often discussed her tantrums with Devon and Claudia. We’re always puzzled over what sets her off. She can go a week or two or three with nothing. And then something sets her off. It can be scary because I don’t know what triggers it.

  And my dad’s damn words and observations keep twirling around my brain.

  I can’t think about that right now. I run a hand over my face and shake my head. I need to clear out all the clutter and chaos. A week has passed since I was free and wild and hopeful and just… happy. All with the woman who usually calms me and is so careful. Why did I get all weird coming back into town? Was it because I knew what I had to face here? Or just because of the history? The endless fucking history. I wish sometimes I could grab her hand and together, we could move away with Dayshia and… What? Pretend this wasn’t where it all started? I can’t keep running away. I can’t keep making the wrong decisions.

  “She’ll probably cry a while longer. Why don’t we go into the living room?” I touch her door as if she can feel my regret. How much I want to make it better for her, but as hard as it is, there is no way I can comfort her at this point.

  Kaeja follows me. I drop on the couch and deflate. Rubbing my hands over my jeans on my thighs, I sigh.

  She sits across the small room from me. “Did you know she would react like this to your coming back into town?”

  “I had an idea she might.” I rub my hands together. She tilts her head, considering me. “I just didn’t know exactly when or how or what might set her off. I can never predict it.”

  “So… what’s the silent treatment about?”

  “I don’t know. I feel odd here in town.”

  “And out of town, you were a new version of yourself. Talkative, affectionate, flirtatious and fun. You wanted me around. So I got that message, and then by merely pointing the car back towards home, you act like I’m interrupting your life or you’re embarrassed to have anyone know about me.”

  “No.” My head jerks up. Being so wrapped up in myself and my own problems, I didn’t for one second consider how my withdrawal would appear to her. “No, that’s not it at all. It’s me. I’m so bad in all relationships and in front of everyone. I guess I’m gun shy. I don’t know.”

  Her head tilts, but her mouth is unsmiling. “It’s been a week. Not a word.”

  “I know.”

  “I wish you’d told me about some of this.”

  “I should have told you.” I tilt my head towards Dayshia’s room and lift my gaze to her. “I’m awkward and wrong. More wrong in the last few years than right.”

  “I’m sick of hearing that excuse.” Her tone is low and even. Surprised, I lift my face to hers. She stares back, unblinking. No smile. No warmth or connection.

  Stricken, I gawk at her. I clear my throat and nod. “I deserve that.”

  “Yes. You do. You portray our reunion as if you missed me. You initiated the sex with me and suggested a trip to see what we are. Then the minute we get back to being real… resuming our jobs, our homes, your daughter, you suddenly don’t know me? You don’t even call me? Or look at me? You give me the brush-off? You’re a grown man who should have figured out what he wants.”

  “I want you.” I say quickly with a shrug as I glance at her and then away. “I do. I haven’t felt the way I do with you with anyone.”

  “Really? And how is that, Damion? Why don’t you tell me now, while your daughter sobs in the other room and I have about two hours to spare before I have to get back to meet a deadline and we’re both tired and cranky at six o’clock on Wednesday night, at home? How do you feel? Nothing special. No wedding. No Ireena to hide behind. No ocean. No resort. No vacation. Just us. Here. This busy weekday.”

  Her jaw is clenched and her dark eyes are blazing at me. I deserve it. Fear ripples through me; she’s done with me, but I also have to say the words she wants to hear. And deserves. The words I owe her.

  Staring at my hands and then at her, I say quietly, “I finally met the woman I was supposed to be with…” I shake my head and sigh before adding, “All along.”

  Her head snaps up to mine and her eyes round in surprise and shock. “All along?”

  I nod. “I loved Ireena. You know that. This isn’t taking anything from that. I love Dayshia and don’t regret how she came to be. But there was nothing easy about that. There was nothing good or right or effortless. It was so tainted at first, it was hard to find love in it. There was so much anger and bitterness and so much to work through. There were difficult times when our personalities clashed, including how each of us processed and handled the betrayal to Devon and losing him and seeing how our behavior affected others.”

  “I told you this isn’t about Ireena.”

  “No. But my guilt is. And that’s where it’s coming from.”

  “You always feel guilt. I’m not interested in being another source of your guilt.”

  “You’re not. Seeing and feeling what a healthy, easy, soul-to-soul connection can be is the only guilt I feel. Not about you.”

  “You’re saying you feel…”

  “I feel like everything with Ireena was hard and forced but I made myself do and handle it to survive. Right or wrong, that’s how it was, and then she died before I had a chance to see if it would all work out. Then there was you. You that I just slept next to and you get everything I might think or feel or say so easily I almost don’t have to say it. I felt it the first time we had sex. The first time we hugged. The first time we slept beside each other. All of it was part of what I wanted… you. And then time… But there was no one else. I had things to work out. And there you were… and it was so easy. So right and real and wished for.”

  “So… what is real? The words you say or the actions you do? I’m not going to hear one thing and be shown another if you expect me to believe your words, Damion.”

  A small smile curls my mouth. “Clearly.”

  She scowls. I smile wider and rise to my feet. Her gaze follows me. I step towards her and finally drop down in front of her. On my knees, I set a hand on her shoulder until I’m eye level with her now. “I have no idea how to be in a normal relationship. I think that’s what you are witnessing. I never had more than brief flings before Ireena, which started as that, and then it went so fucking epic. I even started us out wrong. I just want to do us right.” I rub my hand behind her neck and touch the soft hair at her nape. “I want you, K
aeja. I just might need time and space to figure out how to make that part of my ordinary six o’clock on Wednesday night normal.”

  “You want me to have sex with? To share a friendship that remains separate from your life and job and Dayshia? Or do you want a relationship? What do you think I’m offering you?”

  “I hope all of it. A relationship.”

  “You never said anything like that.” She bites her lip. “You acted like you wanted that, and then pulled a one-eighty, doing the opposite. What was I supposed to think or do?”

  “This. Call me out. Stop me. I’m sorry.” I brush my fingertips over her neck.

  She scowls at me. “Don’t even think sex can fix this.”

  “I wasn’t. I was thinking how much I’d like to kiss you because it’s been an entire week.”

  “A week that was all your fault. You couldn’t so much as text me?”

  “A week I awkwardly failed to handle taking the next step.”

  Her gaze is weary. “You say the right things when we’re alone, but I’m just not sure I feel those now. Or that you’ll eventually act on them.”

  I tilt my head. Nerves tingle down my spine. She’s not giving in. Words aren’t doing it for her. Of course, she has every reason to doubt me, but I’m not sure how to get past that. I tilt my head realizing the place has gone silent. Dayshia’s screaming has stopped. No matter how uncomfortable it is, one can get used to it. Now she’s silent, which means she’s finally back to being her usual self.

  I squeeze Kaeja’s hand as she eyes me with a scowl. “I’m sorry. But Dayshia’s over it and I need to check on her.”

  Kaeja’s head shakes and her eyes enlarge. “Being a decent, good father is the only thing you should not apologize for and always expect me to understand,” she snaps.

  I rise to my feet, puzzled as I stare down at her. I turn and run to Dayshia’s room. Opening the door, I find her sprawled on the floor, having worn herself out by crying. She pops her head up when she hears the door open. Her face is stained with tracks of tears and her huge, marble-black eyes are glistening. She hiccups as I gather her in my arms and hug her to my chest. Her arms encircle my neck and my heart tugs for her. I rub her cheeks and kiss her head. “Oh, my baby, are you okay now?”