Learning to Cry

by Christopher C. Payne

  It is Halloween, and you don your mask

  Eating some candy, you don’t even ask

  Feelings concealed in blacks and greys

  Suddenly you’re lost, you can’t find your way.

  You turn to your mother to light your road

  The weight of her smile is all she can hold

  You turn to your dad, as a final resort.

  He turns his back, there is no more support.

  Final Trip to the Mountains

  Melissa

  A weekend in the mountains. Actually, to clarify, it was their last weekend in the mountains. Not only did her mom sell their family home on the coast, but her dad also sold the house in the mountains. He didn’t talk about selling it, though. The bank took it back because he owed much more than it was worth, and, with the divorce, keeping it didn’t make financial sense. What did losing another house really matter anyway? Life was not about having a home. It was all about keeping a nice bank account, she guessed.

  At least she took a couple of friends with her. She attended counseling as instructed, and her dad didn’t know anything about what happened at her mother’s house. So, she was not restricted to severity at this point. She could only fit two friends for this trip, though. She brought Sarah, as always, and Beth came, as well. They planned on meeting the twins once they arrived. Her dad cautioned her about the weekend, but she didn’t really pay much heed to his concerns. Melissa found it progressively easier to do what she wanted, when she wanted to. She dealt with the consequences later.

  Her dad talked about how stressful the weekend would be. They had to pack stuff up and move a bunch of furniture. The bank was foreclosing on the house, and they only had a few days to get everything organized. He asked all of the kids to be on their best behavior. Karen was along, also, and this was the first weekend they all travelled together. It was a little tight in the SUV with all seven of them, but they squeezed in.

  Everyone but her dad, who drove, had suitcases and stuff on their legs, under their feet and in every crevice imaginable. They barely managed room for the dog. They would get a trailer hitched to the back of the SUV for the trip home.

  If this was Melissa’s last trip to the mountains for a very long time, she didn’t care what her father said. She was going to have a good time.

  Father

  How often do people talk about the final few hurdles that stand in the way of their happiness? There are always a few obstacles, but as days turn into weeks, then months, then years, those obstacles are only replaced by new ones. If you understand life, you comprehend the need to find happiness while running the race. The end of the race is death, and no one knows what to expect when that occurs. All we have are our hypotheses.

  I felt I finally had a chance for happiness with Karen. I didn’t pin all my hopes on her shoulders. Nobody should bear that kind of a burden for somebody else. I had simply found someone who accepted me, and I completely adored her. Her soft, gentle demeanor melted my armor away and left me vulnerable. I was exposed, and I loved every minute of it.

  Melissa was still lost. Damn, she might be lost for several more years, but she was in counseling, attending school, and putting her best foot forward. My divorce was going smoothly. Things had been horrible for several months, so we had nowhere to go but up, right?

  Financially, I was better off letting the vacation home go even though the final weekend in the mountains would be hard. I actually felt like my backpack was lightening for the first time in several years. If I could get through that weekend, the largest obstacles in my life would finally disappear. What did I know?

  I guess it just goes to show you that misguided optimism is lost with the irony of a brutal reality. But while you are living life, you can’t change the past. You can only look forward, and that was my intent. Now, my only solace is reflection.

  We arrived for our final three days, unloaded, and got acclimated. We needed to be up early the next morning, so we all decided to get to bed early. Melissa wanted to go over to the twins’ house that evening, but she reluctantly agreed to wait until the following day. I called my neighbor Bill who was in town with his wife and kids and told them we would meet up first thing the next morning. He’d agreed to help me move a bunch of stuff and filter through whatever we wanted to keep.

  The morning came quickly. We shoveled in some breakfast and began the process. Melissa and her friends entertained the little ones, and everyone got along splendidly. When she wanted to be, Melissa was really quite pleasurable to have around. Who says that teenagers can’t be civil human beings?

  I remember going on vacations as a child with my parents and sister to California of all places. We stayed a few days in San Francisco, and it was my first time on the West Coast. I can’t remember why, but I got angry with my parents. I refused to speak to them while we walked through the streets to sight-see. It got to a point where I wouldn’t even walk next to them. I tagged along about 20 feet behind. I wonder why families even take teenagers on vacation anyway. Sometimes, I think we should lock them all up in cages between the ages of 13 and 20 and test them for sanity before letting them out in public again.

  Since my parents had no idea where they were going, we ended up on Market Street. All I could see were signs for sex shows, strip clubs, and interesting-looking characters hanging out on the curb. I came from a very small town that didn’t have homeless people. I am not sure where the poor people lived, but it wasn’t on the street. Damn, with a house costing around $20,000, maybe there was nobody poor enough not to be able to afford a home.

  As we were walking along, one of the homeless men from the street approached me and asked me for money. At that moment, I decided my parents weren’t so bad after all, and I walked a little closer to them. My acceptance of them was fleeting, but at least for a few days I tolerated their presence. Maybe the cure for all teenage rebellion is to have a homeless person hang out with them until they pass those turbulent years. But that solution itself is stupid – a homeless person living with a teenager, by definition, would no longer be homeless. Maybe we are just stuck with those damn kids.

  As the day dragged on, the girls grew restless, and we cut them loose. We gave them some money for their baby-sitting efforts, and they headed to the pizza parlor for dinner. The house was still a mess, and I asked them to pick it up before they left. They, of course, protested in unison and promised to be back early to pick up their belongings. I should have held my ground, but I relented, and they left.

  Bill’s wife made dinner, and we waited until the girls returned to eat. I was in need of a large quantity of alcohol, but I really wanted everything to get settled before I commenced the entertainment portion of the night. That was when the anxiety began. As the clock kept ticking, the girls were nowhere to be found. Since I was already on edge, it was all I could do to contain my anger.

  Finally, I called Melissa, and she told me they were on their way home. They left the pizza parlor a few minutes ago and would be back very shortly. It’s so strange to me that Melissa continued to lie about the silliest things. I asked her who the people were in the background if they had already left, and she then changed her story. They hadn’t actually left, but they were leaving immediately. Maybe having the drinks beforehand would have been a better solution. I yelled at her over the phone and told her to get her butt home. I had no patience for her dishonesty. I wanted her home to do what she’d promised she would.

  Yelling at a teenager, especially one prone to eruption is never a good approach. Maybe Melissa had inherited my ease with raising my voice. I don’t dispense wisdom quietly, that’s for sure. I have never hit my children, but I have been known to give them a piece of my mind that can be heard throughout the house. She yelled back in her customary fashion, “FINE!” She hung up the phone, and I guess the girls began their trek back.

  When the gang arrived, they went into the house and picked up their belongings as most petulant teenagers do. As I compare similarities of ou
r childhoods, there is one glaring difference. I was anally neat from conception. My daughter must get her cleanliness skills from her mother. She is anything but tidy.

  It was not what I wanted to see when I opened the door. I had waited for a couple of hours on the porch across the street for the gaggle of misfits to return. While I waited, our food cooled to the point of being frozen. I am not sure why I waited for her to meander back before eating. It clearly wasn’t a great idea. I ended up angry, tired, and hungry on top of everything else.

  Our discussion quickly turned into a shouting match as I tried to get my point across, and she fought for me to see her side. She felt she had done nothing wrong, and I was tired of her lying to me. She didn’t even remember lying. Melissa had told so many lies that she no longer remembered what she said and what she didn’t. It had become her way of life.

  Our verbal sparring escalated, and Melissa cursed me.

  “Fuck you! You’re an asshole!”

  It went on and on. My sanity returned, and I lowered my volume. I asked her if she would like to take the rest of our discussion upstairs. Much to my dislike, her friends were watching us go at it, and they all fidgeted uncomfortably. I then told the twins it was time to go home. That directive set Melissa off into another tirade, and she spewed forth a slew of obscenities in my direction.

  I made my way to move upstairs, and to my surprise she followed me. I actually anticipated she would stay with her friends, and they would discuss what an asshole I was. When I try to remember that evening’s details, the only concrete thing that sticks out is her lying. I don’t know why it even upset me so badly since Melissa does it all the time, but that night it did.

  It was a tight fit with both of us trying to get through the hallway. There was a door on one side that closed, and there was about five feet before you could go up five stairs to the second landing. At the second landing you could go straight up more stairs to the kids’ room or turn left for additional stairs that led to another part of the house. As Melissa approached, I stood by the door of the first landing with my right hand on the doorknob. As she passed by me I placed my left hand on her shoulder. As she walked through, I planned to simply close the door. I wanted to isolate the two of us, and I had prayed to God that we could reach an understanding.

  Cornered animals are vicious. That is why they call them cornered animals. An animal that is backed into a wall with no place to turn will lash out with all means possible to defend itself. There is no rationale or logic behind their actions. Pure adrenaline and pent-up energy explodes. Maybe that’s why I don’t care for cats. Every dog and human knows that you don’t mess with a cat when it’s pissed off and has its back against a wall.

  Melissa exploded instantly when I touched her shoulder. I am unsure if it was the surprise of my physical contact or the raw emotion she emitted, but with her teeth clenched and her body coiled, it was suddenly unleashed. She lashed out at me with both arms in a flailing little girl attack that reminded me of two women fighting who didn’t really want to fight but felt it necessary to put on a show.

  In a reflexive attempt to protect myself – and her – I grabbed both of her wrists and held them about chest level. This was probably not the best move. We both twisted slightly through the door jam and moved about a foot further into the hallway. Then, Melissa attacked from all angles, beginning a lower assault. She kicked me. She raised one foot and the other as I held her wrists. Her sheer inertia propelled her forward further. Jesus, what the hell was going on? As she attempted to kick me with both feet, she must have realized she didn’t have anything holding her to the floor. She began her descent. I still held her wrists, so I plunged headlong right on top of her. It might have been comical if it weren’t such a violent confrontation. Maybe we would have been better off if I smacked her upside the head when this entire process began.

  As we landed, her on her back, me on top of her, still holding her wrists I might add, we both paused to assess what had just occurred. Then, as she only allowed me a second to gather my senses, she attacked again. But this time, she used all her limbs. I let go of her arms at some point, pushed myself up and headed to the stairs. She landed a few glancing kicks as I retreated. I knew it was better to remove myself from the situation. We would’ve been better off still if I had remained disengaged and avoided the entire conflict.

  I only allowed myself a couple of minutes catch my breath. It sounded like Melissa had declared war, and I was afraid she was hurting herself or others. Hearing the commotion downstairs, given her propensity for irrational actions, I didn’t know what was happening. I trudged into the thick of the battle again. My breathing was still heavy, but I was more psychologically exerted than physically spent. I made a mental note that my daughters had no idea how to defend themselves, and if they were in any real trouble, they could be seriously hurt.

  Melissa was cursing full steam, throwing every word at me that she had learned from a bathroom wall in her high school, and it came nonstop. Her brown curly hair frizzed in a thousand different directions. Her eyes were possessed like nothing I had ever seen before, and she looked like a wild animal, searching for something or somebody to kill. It was unnerving seeing her in this state of disarray.

  I told her that she was not allowed to curse me in my house. She was not allowed to break certain rules, and if she couldn’t follow these basic guidelines, she needed to leave. So, she left. I locked the door behind her as she headed out. I went back upstairs. A few minutes later, I realized I’d only locked one of nearly 10 doors to the house. I no longer cared. I walked back downstairs, crossed the street and headed to the neighbors. Everyone was ready to eat.

  I told them my story, and Karen went over to see if she could add a calming effect to the situation. It didn’t really help. Ironically, Cheryl was in the mountains that weekend, as well staying with some friends of ours. I guess they weren’t really friends of mine anymore. They were now only Cheryl’s friends. Melissa apparently called Cheryl, and since I represented all things evil, Cheryl arrived within 15 minutes to pick her up. It might have been the first time in my life I didn’t care. I was actually happy to see Melissa go. For the first time in my life, I was glad to see my daughter get in the car a drive away. We had disagreements before, she had raised her voice before, she had lied before, but I had never seen anything like this. Little did I know this altercation would not end in the mountains.

  I always told my girls that I would love them forever, no matter what. There was nothing they could do that would ever sever this love. It was a bond between father and daughter that could not be broken. I was about to see Melissa push that to the breaking point. Upon her arrival home, she and her mother turned me in to Child Welfare Services, claiming that I had beaten Melissa. She had bruises on her arms, and she wanted me punished.

  The irony of this situation defiantly glared me in the face. I’ve been in several fights. I know how to throw a punch. If I wanted to hit Melissa, I would have hit her. My father hit me – I know the process. I devoted my entire life, ensuring she never had to live in that kind of environment. Yet, she now accused me of that very thing. It was the worst betrayal imaginable, and it will likely be the worst betrayal I will ever withstand. At the time, it was also the most devastating thing that had ever happened to me.

  Child Welfare, of course, found me innocent, but the process was humiliating. Interestingly enough, Melissa had, and still has no idea, what she was doing. What if I had been found guilty? It would have not only jeopardized my relationship with her, but it would also have affected my relationships with Amelia and Cassandra. What if they took all three kids away from me? It was then that I knew Melissa had crossed a line, and our relationship would never be the same. Things had changed. It was one thing for her to confront me, to curse me, to lie to me, to threaten me, to accuse me, but when she put me in a position where I might lose all three of my kids, she had gone too far.

  She did not realize she could have been placed in a
foster home if Child Welfare had found me guilty and discovered her mother to be incompetent. Jesus, once you involve Child Welfare, the outcome is a mystery. I am not saying that abuse should not be reported, I’m just saying that the abuse should be real before anyone points a finger.

  Melissa wondered on several occasions why she felt things were different between us after her visit to the governmental agency. How can you explain reality to somebody who lives in their own world? She said I used to be her friend, but now I act like I am only her father. It breaks my heart to hear her say this, but I have no idea how to tell her. How can I tell my lost child that she forever changed the bond we once had? Things don’t have to be bad, they don’t have to even been stressed, but they will forever be different. That is just the way life goes. We all have to live with our actions and the consequences that follow.

  I now know this better than anyone. As I lie here, crying on my bed so many years later, staring at the cracks in the ceiling above me, I now know this all too well.

  My life will never be the same. I’ve forever altered the lives of so many because of what I have done. It might not have been on purpose, it might not have been intentional, but just as that night changed Melissa’s relationship with me, the night of June 7, 2010, altered the course of everything I had ever wanted, dreamed of having, or hoped to attain.

  Jesus, I am so tired of crying. I want the pain to go away. If I didn’t think it was a spineless escape, I’d figured out a way to kill myself. Who would care, anyway? Did any of it matter? What was done was done, and while I might relive that night every waking second of my life, I can’t change it. Looking into the eyes of a little girl as she lies dying is agonizing. It is pure torment as she looks up at you, silently pleading, longing for you to help her, but there is nothing you can do.