Children of Chaos

by Greg F. Gifune

  Seemed fitting somehow, all that rain, though I wasn’t sure why.

  Without even realizing it, I started writing in my head, absorbing everything and everyone around me like I’d done for years, weaving it all together with my emotions and the thoughts firing through me to form a narrative I knew at some point I’d be able to use. In whole or only in part, it didn’t really matter. Nothing was without value. Everything could be used, regardless of how unpleasant. I’d learned that long ago. Painful or not, always be in the moment, notice what others take for granted, listen to that constant racket rattling around your skull, working possibilities, angles, conflicts and solutions. Lock it away and use it later.

  Not that it’s a voluntary process. It isn’t. Writers are always on, we can’t help it. It must not be far from what a schizophrenic experiences, all those voices constantly babbling in your ear and refusing to shut the fuck up.

  Such is the mental state of a writer. And that’s the good part.

  I’d been pacing in front of a water bubbler and a restroom for more than an hour when I finally saw Trish round a corner looking more pissed than concerned. The moment I looked in her eyes I knew Gillian was alive.

  “Is she all right?” I asked, meeting her halfway.

  “Shaken up and a little bruised and scraped from the airbag but otherwise all right, thank God.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “The car she was in went through a red light into an intersection and some guy in a delivery truck broadsided it.” She grimaced, like the words had just then made sense to her. “The car’s totaled. Police said she’s lucky to be alive.”

  “What was she doing out in the middle of the night?”

  “Don’t take that accusatory tone with me, Phil.” Her voice was remarkably calm, but it was a façade I knew all too well. When Trish was really off-the-charts pissed she got real quiet. “Apparently her friend Amy decided to steal her father’s car and go for a joyride. Doesn’t even have a license, she’s the same age as Gillian, can you believe it? And our daughter, being the beacon of good judgment she so often is, decided it’d be a good idea to go along for the ride. She snuck out of the house after we’d gone to bed.”

  I was glad I still had a bit of a buzz. “Why would she do that?”

  “Because she’s fifteen-years-old, in full-blown rebellion and a huge pain in my ass, that’s why. And I’ve had it with this crap. You still think of her like she’s a little girl, but she’s not. You see her now and then. I live with her every day.”

  “That’s how you wanted it.”

  “And you didn’t?” She arched an eyebrow. “Children need consistency. You’re unreliable, and that’s putting it kindly. Come on, Phil, we both know you couldn’t be trusted with the care of a hamster much less my daughter.”

  “Our daughter. And I’ve always cared for her just fine.”

  She began to respond then changed her mind, too exhausted to fight about it. Her posture slumped, like she’d been punched in the gut and was only then feeling the delayed reaction to it.

  Trish looked tired, but all things considered, not too bad. Unlike me, rather than gaining a few pounds in middle age, she’d lost quite a few. Too many, I thought. She looked hungry. Her hair was combed down in front and shorter than she’d worn it back in our twenties, and though she dyed it she’d apparently missed her last appointment, because several gray roots dotted her hairline. The lines in her face were more evident than usual, but she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Even after all these years I still couldn’t look at her without feeling something. She was the only woman I’d ever really loved, and much as I could barely stand her these days, she was the mother of my child. Gillian bound us together forever, whether we wanted her to or not.

  “I’ve been too lax,” she said. “These kids today, you can’t give them an inch. She needs more discipline, and after this little fiasco, oh trust me, she’s going to get it. She’s grounded until further notice, and I’m taking all privileges away, cell phone, her computer, all of it.”

  I was about to ask when I could see her when Trish’s live-in boyfriend Albert appeared at the head of the hallway. Between his tall, gangly, reed-thin body and exaggerated angular features, he reminded me of a giant bird. Though he ran marathons and worked as a personal trainer, to me he looked emaciated and anything but healthy. Eighteen years younger than my ex-wife, he’d just turned twenty-six. Per usual, he flashed me an insincere smile then addressed Trish rather than both of us. “Honey, they’re just finishing cleaning her up and then she’ll be released. Should only be a few more minutes.”

  “If you want to take off, it’s OK,” Trish told me.

  “I’ll hang around. I want to see her before I go.”

  Trish hiked her purse up higher on her shoulder, leaned against the wall and folded her arms across her chest. “Just make sure you back me on this. She doesn’t need a sympathetic dad right now. She could’ve been killed tonight. You need to come down on her. Hard.”

  I nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “I mean it, Phil.”

  Christ did I need a cigarette. “Yeah, I heard you.”

  “Just the other day,” Albert chimed in, “I told Gillian I didn’t want her associating with Amy anymore. She’s bad news, that one. Didn’t I just the other day tell her that, honey?”

  Trish knew from my expression what was coming, but before she could cut me off I said, “You really shouldn’t be telling her anything.”

  He grinned nervously. “I’m just saying—”

  “What are you even doing up? Isn’t it past your bedtime, Skippy?”

  “Hilarious,” he said.

  “Knock it off, Phil,” Trish sighed. “We don’t need this petty crap right now.”

  “Oh, we don’t?”

  “It’s really not a joking matter.” Albert slid an arm around Trish and pulled her away from the wall and against him instead. “Gillian needs more discipline and structure. The patterns she establishes now will determine her habits for the rest of her life. She also needs to exercise more and eat healthier starting now.”

  I fought the urge to grab him by the throat. “Gillian’s needs are none of your business.”

  Albert stiffened. “Well, quite frankly, Phil, I—”

  “Fuck off.” I pushed by, making sure my shoulder made contact with him as I continued on down the hallway. “I’m going to see my kid.”

  * * *

  Once I identified myself a nurse escorted me through the ER, past open-door rooms housing assorted patients in various stages of distress, and several areas cordoned off with pull-curtains. Behind one such curtain, I found Gillian sitting on the edge of a hospital bed. Her hair was cut shorter than the last time I’d seen her a few weeks before. A few strands had been dyed green. It didn’t bother me, I figured she was just expressing herself, trying to find her way, but was surprised Trish had allowed it. Her entire outfit was frumpy and black. Black jeans. Black sneakers. Baggy black sweatshirt. Even her earrings, big retro hoops Trish might’ve worn when we’d first starting dating, were black plastic. She’d entered a stage where she hadn’t yet mastered her own personal style, so she tended to mix and match and try new things. I could never be entirely sure what sort of look she’d have from one week to the next, but of late it was always interesting if nothing else. She wasn’t supposed to be wearing makeup yet last time I knew, but her eyes were heavily made up with eyeliner and mascara, and her lips had been coated with some sort of sparkly gloss. I thanked the nurse, stepped through and pulled the curtain closed behind me. My daughter gave me a sideways glance equal parts embarrassment and apprehension then scrunched her lips up into an unintentionally comic frown. The bridge of her nose was swollen and the skin beneath both eyes badly scraped where the car’s airbag had hit her face. I was mad at her, but seeing even those minor injuries ripped right through me, and all I really gave a damn about was that she was all right.

  “You OK?” I asked her. She nod
ded. “Ready to go?”

  “Waiting on the doctor to do the release forms or whatever,” she said.

  Trish was right. I still saw Gillian as my baby. I couldn’t help it, that’s exactly what she was and always would be to me. I didn’t give a damn how old she got. She’d always be my little girl. She’d forever be that miraculous little bundle I first held in my arms in the hospital, those impossibly gorgeous eyes looking up at me with such innocence and wonderment. She’d forever be the toddler running around in her diaper, the laughing little girl I took to the public playground, and who threw her arms around me and screamed, “Daddy!” every time I came home. I’d carried crippling feelings of guilt and damnation in my heart for most of my life, but in those moments with my daughter, I felt God in me again, like maybe I’d redeemed myself in some way, or at least had a chance at it. Even now, as my precious little girl hurtled toward womanhood, leaving those childhood years to memories and photographs, I still saw her as the best of me. Whatever hopes and dreams I’d once had, I only wanted for her now. Her life would not be mine. Her life would be better, happier, and free of the demons I’d been cursed with.

  I touched her shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze. She brought her hand to mine and left it there awhile. I leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “You scared the hell out of your mother and me.”

  Just above a whisper she said, “I’m sorry.”

  “What the hell were you thinking, Gill?”

  She shrugged and stared at the floor.

  “Answer me.”

  “Amy was pissed at her mom and wanted to—”

  “You could’ve been killed. You could’ve killed somebody else.”

  She nodded, still refusing to look at me.

  “You weren’t driving were you?”

  “No.”

  “Why would you get into a car with someone who doesn’t even know how to drive? Are you out of your mind?”

  “It was stupid. I shouldn’t have gone.”

  “Yeah, you think?” A headache was creeping up behind my right temple. I rubbed at it and let out a long sigh. “Is Amy all right?”

  Gillian nodded.

  I wanted to scream and yell but didn’t have it in me just then. The thought that I’d done more than my share of stupid things when I was her age hadn’t even fully formed in my head when I realized Gillian was only a year older than I’d been the night I saw the scarred man. The night we’d killed him.

  I snapped shut my eyes in the hopes of heading off the rapid-fire flashes that always accompanied memories of that night. Rain…blood…that scream.

  “The important thing is no one was hurt,” I said, doing my best to hold my voice steady.

  “Mom’s really pissed.”

  “She has every right to be. So am I.”

  “I’m gonna be grounded a long time.”

  “You’ll be lucky if you see daylight by thirty.”

  She finally looked at me. A slight smile surfaced but was gone quickly.

  “I love you,” I told her.

  “I love you too.”

  I never tired of hearing that.

  “But if you ever pull a stunt like this again I’ll put my foot so far up your ass you’ll be back here having it surgically removed, we clear?”

  She nodded again. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Don’t cry.” I reached out, wiped some away. “Just don’t ever scare us like this again. You want to give me a heart attack you miserable brat?”

  I’d hoped she’d laugh. She didn’t. Instead she said, “If I ask you something do you promise to tell me the truth?”

  “Sure. Shoot.”

  “Do you think I’m fat?”

  “What? No, why—what kind of word is that to use about people?”

  “But am I? Am I fat?”

  “No, Gillian, you’re not fat.”

  She wiped the remaining tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “You don’t think I need to lose a few pounds?”

  “I think you’re the most beautiful and perfect creation I’ve ever seen.”

  “You promised to tell the truth.”

  “I just did.”

  She looked away.

  “Sweetheart, why would you ask me something like that?”

  Head bowed, Gillian shrugged.

  “Things hard at home right now?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Your mom being tough on you?”

  “Yeah,” she said, slowly swinging a dangling foot back and forth. “But she’s always like that. It’s not mom.”

  I felt every muscle in my body clench. “Did Albert do something to you?”

  “No, he just—he’s always saying I should lose a few pounds and if I don’t get healthier and all this that I’ll be obese and really unhealthy and—”

  “Look at me,” I interrupted. She did. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

  “That’s code for I’m fat.”

  “No it’s not, you—you’re body’s still filling out and changing and…” I fumbled for the right things to say, feeling completely inept. “Look, don’t listen to Albert, he’s an idiot. You just be you, OK?”

  She watched me awhile, those same loving eyes I’d first seen all those years before in the hospital searching mine. “OK.”

  “I gotta go. Get home and get some sleep, I’ll talk to you next week.”

  “Dad?”

  I hesitated near the curtain and looked back at her.

  “Are you OK?”

  I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had asked me that.

  “I’m fine,” I said, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

  We both knew I was lying, but she let it go.

  I threw her a smile and a wink then slipped out through the curtain.

  * * *

  Trish and Albert were waiting in the parking lot.

  “They’re getting ready to release her,” I told Trish, “you should go in.”

  Even before she’d left us alone I could sense the tension in Albert rising. “These kids,” he said, feigning camaraderie, “they’ll make you crazy, huh?”

  “I’m already crazy, Albert. That’s why I always have a baseball bat in my car. You know, for those times when I just can’t hold the crazy in anymore.”

  He smiled nervously.

  “I want you to listen real close to what I’m about to tell you,” I said. “It’s very important, and I’m only planning on saying it once. Listening?”

  “Yes.” He glanced around, looking for help.

  “Gillian’s fifteen years old. Now, I’m no expert on teenage girls or child psychology or any of that, but I do know this. Teenagers—especially teenage girls—are extremely sensitive about their appearances and body images. It’s a very difficult time for girls. See, they’re already going through changes and trying to find their way and they have to face all these unrealistic and shallow expectations advertisers and our culture places on them from very young ages. Now this kind of thing damages their self-esteem, which is already vulnerable and really delicate to begin with. Like, for example, when some moronic asshole like you comes along and suggests she needs to lose weight. It makes them feel bad about themselves and can often have a negative impact that lasts for the rest of their lives. It hurts them, Albert. It hurts Gillian. And when it hurts Gillian, it hurts me.” I stood unusually close to him and lit a cigarette, making sure I blew as much smoke directly at him as I could. “Wanna take a guess at who comes next in the hurt parade?”

  “I’m just trying to help her, Phil. I see it all the time today, there’s an absolute epidemic of obesity in this country right now, particularly among children, and—”

  “She’s not obese.”

  “No, but she will be if she doesn’t get a handle on things now.”

  “It’s none of your business. Stay out of it.”

  “I care very deeply about Trish and Gillian, OK?”

  “Just because my ex-wife feels the need to trawl junior high
schools for boyfriends these days and came up with you, doesn’t make Gillian any of your concern. Leave her alone, I’m not telling you again.” I exhaled a stream of smoke into his face.

  He waved at the air. “You really shouldn’t smoke, Phil. As if smelling like a liquor store isn’t enough of a bad example, I certainly hope you don’t smoke in front of Gillian too.”

  I’m not sure he’d gotten her entire name out of his mouth before I’d flicked the cigarette away, grabbed him by the front of his jacket and slammed him onto the nearest available car hood.

  He let out a high-pitched, childlike squeal and tried to squirm out from under my grip, so I slammed him again, this time knocking most of the air out of him. Once he’d gone limp I pulled him back to his feet and sat his ass on the front bumper, my hands still holding him by his lapels. “If you ever say anything to my daughter again about her weight or the way she looks or the way she walks, talks, chews gum, scratches her ass or looks out a fucking window, I’ll beat you to within an inch of your life, you got it?”

  When he didn’t answer I shook him until he saw it my way.

  “Yes,” he gasped, “yes, I—all right.”

  I let him go and he slumped over, slid off the bumper and fell to his knees. “You’ll want to be keeping this little misunderstanding between us.” I reached down, grabbed a handful of hair and raised his head up until our eyes met. “Because if you make trouble for me, or tell Trish about this so she can, or if you in any way make my life more difficult or do anything that makes it harder for me to see my daughter, I’ll kill you.”

  I could tell he believed me, which was good, because I probably meant it.

  By the time I got back to my car and started for home the sun had started to come up. Another night gone. Another day coming.