Comin' Home to You

by Dustin Mcwilliams

  The badly painted blue door suddenly opened. He took a small step back, with his fists lightly clenched. He was prepared for a gun to the face, a knife to his throat, or some sort of painful object thrust at him. On retrospect, he wished he had brought some sort of a weapon, but time was of the essence.

  His tense body relaxed when he saw a noticeably addled Ali at the entrance. Darkened bags sat under her glossy and water-filled eyes. Her hair was disheveled, some strands sticking outward. Though she looked like hell, her appearance was almost strikingly like her late mother’s. However, her appearance and carelessness also closely resembled Patricia’s last moments before her demise.

  Ali cleared her throat, hacking up a large wad of phlegm and spitting off of her small front stoop. “What do you want, Owen?”

  “What do I want? Why the hell did you let Scar pick up Austin?”

  Sheer confusion could be seen in her face. Her eyes blinked quickly and repeatedly, still not used to the outdoor sunlight. “What the hell are you talking about? You were supposed to get him.”

  “I had a doctor’s appointment. If you answered your phone, you’d know I asked Taylor to do it.”

  “It’s been dead.”

  “Then charge it.”

  “I’ve been asleep. I just woke up.”

  “Just woke up?” Owen’s face signaled his amazement vividly. “It’s five in the freaking afternoon! How long have you been asleep?”

  Ali’s stare back was cold and vacant. “What’s today?”

  “Tuesday.”

  Her eyebrows raised while her hand went up to scratch at her scalp. “Whoa. Then, since Sunday night, I think. Shit.”

  Despite being unbelievably surprised by how long Ali had been sleeping after her meth crash, Owen geared himself back into the main subject. “Where’s Austin?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Owen’s teeth gritted. His hands loosened and trembled as he visualized grabbing her small shoulders and shaking some sense into her. “How the fuck do you not know!?”

  “I said I don’t know because I’ve been asleep, asshole!”

  Ugh, they are so much alike, thought Owen. It was like he was staring at the avatar of his deceased fiancé. They were so similar, there were even parallels between Ali and Clint's relationship and his and Patricia's. Both grew up playing together as kids. Their respective parents didn’t like or had something against the opposite child. Patricia’s parents didn’t like Owen because he accidentally broke an old ceramic jug that belonged to Patricia’s Mexican great-great-grandfather. The two couples also had a child in their teens. One big difference in the two relationships was love. Owen and Patricia loved each other. Ali lusted after Clint as he was a forbidden fruit that her father wanted no part of. Clint just wanted something to fuck.

  The similarities didn’t end there. There was one comparison that made his mind grimace. The mother and daughter acted so much alike, that he wondered if his daughter would meet a similar fate to her mother. Ali never had any close calls with overdosing, but neither did Patricia. It only took one time, and with Ali’s temperament and her toxic relationship with her fiancé, he worried a great deal that the day where Ali fucks up approached. If such a somber scenario took place, Clint would be the remaining parent to Austin. He had to stop himself before thinking of such a tainted future for the young boy. This just gave him more fuel to add the already burning hatred that he had for all the Graysons.

  Owen, growing irritated, pressed his fingertips into his hair and scratched at his skull. “I swear, when you get on that binge of yours, that’s all you fucking care about. Do you even care about Austin, at all? Do you care about his future? The shit he’s around every day? Or is meth that important to you? Do you fucking care at all?

  “Yeah, I fucking care! Fuck you!”

  “You haven’t even seen him since last Saturday! You don’t even know where the fuck he is! You’re fucking careless, irresponsible as shit, and you actually call yourself a mother to that boy? You’re starting to act just like your mother!”

  Ali breathed heavily as her eyes filled with rage. “What did you just say?”

  Owen didn’t reply. He instead listened to the incoherent noises from his daughter’s mouth and nostrils that he could only interpret as the sound of seething. Salty water in her eyes slowly descended down her cheeks. Nothing infuriated her more than when she thought about her deceased mother. Being compared to her probably amplified the effect. He remembered the aftermath of the discovery of his dear Patricia. Ali was mute and comatose for a month, with the only noises coming from her were grieving whimpers that were guttural in nature. Those same sounds reverberated in his ears at this moment. He expected the usual three words to escape her lips.

  “I hate you!”

  The way she screamed those words were childish in nature. When reminded of her mother, Ali tended to retreat back into an emotional state similar to that of a pre-teen. Her anger made her regress even further to the mindset of a five year old. To this day, nothing haunted her more than the image of her dead mother. She had admitted more than a couple of times to him, back when they were on somewhat better terms, that she dreamed about her a lot. So much so that she admitted that being on her meth binges helped because she didn’t have to sleep. If only his daughter knew that he also dreamed of her, though he wondered if Ali’s dreams pictured her in a more positive light and not like the zombie full of hatred that he endured each and every sleep.

  Ali's fists clenched tightly and her nose sniveled like a breathing pig. She had struck him once before, while in the same drug-induced state, though he couldn't recall what she was on. Right now, she looked fresh off the meth binge, but she was likely extremely irritable from it already. One mention of Patricia, and his daughter became a raging psychopath. Yet, he was having second thoughts about how he said it. He definitely didn't want Ali to meet the same exact fate as his fiancé, but he was sure there was a more polite and respectful way to mention it.

  He needed to think of something quickly. Ali took a couple of steps toward him, while he composedly took a step back. If he took a shot from her, so be it. But, he would rather his face stay unblemished, as he had been bruising extremely easily lately. He bumped his shin the other day and the bruise took up half of his leg. While rubbing his tongue over his teeth repeatedly, Owen knew what needed to be said. The words were always there on the tip of his tongue, ready to finally escape the confines of his mouth. His pride, however, always kept those words imprisoned. When he looked into his daughter's eyes full of rage and sorrow, his own knees grew weak in his own failure. He would not take another step in retreat. It was time to explain something that she needed to hear.

  He gestured for her to hold on. “Wait, Ali...wait.”

  Ali stopped, but her fists remained prime to strike. It was now or never for him,

  “I know you hate me. You have every right to. I wasn't the greatest father...shit, I was lousy. I know this. I’ve known it forever. But...this doesn't change how I feel about you and your mother. Do you honestly think I wasn't as shocked as you when I saw her like that?”

  Ali said nothing.

  “I was. I was...I couldn’t believe it. I was terrified for the future without her. It was too much. It destroyed me.”

  “Horseshit.”

  “I swear. I’m still hurting.”

  “I don’t believe you. I was there! I came home when I heard you pull up. You said some mean fucking things to Mommy. Really mean fucking things! And then she dies, and then you brought home another woman a month later,” somberly spoke Ali. “I remember that shit. That's how I remembered how to talk again, just to tell you that I hated you. So don’t tell me that you cared. You were a piece of shit then and you’re still a piece of shit.”

  Oh God, how he wanted to erase that moment from his memory. He was desperate for the warm feeling of a woman’s embrace. No one could take the place of Patricia, but he needed something. But all he was doing was masking his
feelings. He just needed someone to fuck to help him ease the pain of losing her. The woman he brought home that night was probably a five out of ten. Nothing special to look at whatsoever. But she was easy and willing, so he took her back to his place. Ali caught the two of them on the couch on her way to a trip to the restroom. He had his hand down her pants and was kissing her exposed nipples. Although she wasn’t knowledgeable about sex, Ali could see enough that her father had moved on to another woman. In a lot of ways, Ali was a brilliant child. She understood love and sadness, as well as hate and betrayal. When she screamed loudly that she hated him and ran back into her room, he laughed it off. He giggled to his one night stand that she was a bit jealous. In his mind, however, he knew he had made a massive mistake. It still didn’t stop him from a night of loud intercourse. After that moment, Ali always despised him. It was probably why she rebelled early in her life. She knew how much her father hated the Graysons, so Ali went after Clint. To make matters worse, she became pregnant by him at the tender age of 13, with her giving birth at 14. She dropped out of school a couple of years later with a world of potential in front of her. He knew that was his fault, and he could never forgive himself for it. Yet, a chance lay before him to truly apologize. It was time to grow the testicular fortitude to do so.

  Owen tried his best to speak, but his lips sealed themselves shut. He gulped loudly, and not wanting to show weakness, brushed away what was amassing in his eyes with his index finger. His father taught him at a young age that crying was unacceptable for a man. Andy Tomkins had went from sizable wealth in the oil fields to losing almost all of it from his business ventures, so he was always looking to spread his frustrations and life lessons to his disobedient son. If Owen was whipped by his father’s belt for a wrongdoing, he was expected not to cry. Each time he whimpered, his father took another swing at him, screaming that life wasn’t fair and that only a stern face will help you get through it. Soon, he became a man who was emotionally distant. Even in the roughest times of his life, a tear could never escape the confines of its duct. He could count on one hand how many times he has cried in his entire life. Yet, this was no longer the time for a false sense of manliness. He hoped his father was watching this, from whatever vantage point in Heaven or Hell he was looking from.

  “I wish I could go back in time and change everything, Ali. I wish I could have helped your mother…the love of my life, through her problems, but I couldn’t even help myself. I know what I am. I am a fuck-up. I allowed Patricia to do horrible things just so she could get her fix. I could have said no, told her no, but I didn’t, because I liked getting high too. Everything that happened to her was my fault. I'll even take responsibility for her death. But know this Ali, every day I think of her. Every fucking day I think of her, and I think of you too. To this day, I remember the day you were born. I remember the first time we gave you a bath in the sink. God dammit, I remember the smell of that baby shampoo, and how you cried so loudly because we accidentally got it in your eyes. Those days, I...I just can't forget them. I want them back. And...every time you say you hate me, it just...”

  There was no controlling it now. It wasn't a stray tear trickling from an eyelash. This was now an uncontrollable sob. Owen placed both hands over his face so that his daughter could not see this sad and depressing occurrence. He was embarrassed, not because he was crying in front of Ali, but because he had never told her how he felt since Patricia's overdose. He knew there was way too many emotions pent up inside his body, and with him possibly facing his death at any given moment, he realized there was no need to keep them there.

  Why couldn’t I have just told her earlier? Their lives would have been tremendously different if he just spoke simple words of comfort and understanding to his daughter. Would she have understood even then? That was a question he didn’t know, but it was better late than never. She deserved to hear this. If she refused to listen, so be it. It would be his fault for waiting so damn long. Yet, he could pass in a somewhat content state knowing that he got this off his chest.

  Ali shook her head furiously. “Dad, you are so full of fucking shit. You never cared.” Her last words trailed off.

  “I have always cared! I have just been too chicken shit to tell you! You’re my girl, my only child!”

  Her fists loosened. “I don’t believe you. You don’t care. I’m this way because of you.”

  “I'm not denying that.”

  “Why are you telling me this now? After all this time? Why now? Are you drunk? Is that it?”

  “No, I'm not.”

  Ali was beginning to understand something different about her father. Yet, she remained guarded. “No, seriously, after all this time, why now? Huh?”

  He figured this was as good a time as ever to tell her the bad news. “Ali, it's because-”

  “What the fuck is going out here!?” sounded a voice from inside the house.

  Stepping out of the house with a bottled beer in his hand and a disheveled appearance on his face, an intoxicated Clint peered at Owen with a look of disdain. “What are you doing here?”

  Son of a fucking bitch, thought Owen. The last thing he needed was Clint to finally show up at such a critical juncture. He hated that little prick with every fiber of his being. He had to appear right when he was going to tell his daughter about himself. Of course he would.

  It was a shot in the dark, but he thought he’d ask Clint anyway. “Where’s Austin?”

  “Ah, he’s with my brother. He called me and said I needed to do some father shit or whatever or he wouldn’t pay me this week, so we picked him up together and now he’s getting ice cream with him or some shit.” Clint’s bloodshot eyes slowly squinted as he noticed the puffy red eyes of Owen. “You been smoking some weed or…holy shit! OH MY GOD! You’ve been crying! Ali, I can't believe you have such a pussy ass bitch for a dad!”

  Owen felt his own fists clench up as Clint laughed hysterically. Out of the three Grayson brothers, he was by far the most obnoxious. Perhaps he was that way because of his diminutive size compared to his brothers, and he had to find an outlet to compensate. This led him to antagonize anyone that rubbed him the wrong way. He had been in more fights than his two older brothers combined, probably due to people thinking they may have a chance of winning against the smaller Clint.

  Owen had witnessed Clint fight before. It was a year ago, at a bar outside the county line. It was a converted mobile home that only sold longnecks, miscellaneous whiskeys, and had horseshoe posts in the back. Some nights they would sell some moonshine that the owner would cook up. It had two pool tables with cigarette burns on the felt, a decrepit jukebox, a bar area with stools, and a couple of tables and chairs scattered around. Grace had been begging him to go, even though it wasn’t quite his type of place. He preferred jovial places with many quality beers on tap. Eager to please his girl, he took her there, though he regretted it just a few minutes in. He recognized way too many people from high school and trashy people from his past that he didn’t want to socialize with.

  However, he bade his time and stayed patient. He was sure he would be rewarded sexually if he didn’t complain. While he made small talk with a couple of people he could stand, a commotion at the bar caused everyone to turn their heads to the action. There, Owen witnessed a fairly large man with a flat top leaving his stool at the bar and bowing up to a stumbling Clint. He never heard what they were arguing about, but with Clint, it didn't take much for him to become offended and aggressive.

  In the poorly lit trailer bar, he watched as the larger man shoved Clint into a distant pool table. He strangely remembered the balls on the table clacking together as his daughter's boyfriend's back smacked against the oaken sides. Clint just smiled, picked up the 8-ball, and threw it directly into his opponent's face. The cracking sound of the man’s nose breaking made Owen cringe. Blood gushed from his nose, and his painful groan could be heard over the jukebox that was playing older Alan Jackson tunes. Wasting no time, Clint grabbed a cue stick fro
m the nearby rack and mercilessly swung at the man with it. The flat topped man blocked the first few, but after taking another shot to the nose, he crumbled to the ground. Owen lost count how many times Clint hit him after that. No one tried to stop it, as no one dared to interfere with a Grayson’s battle. They were as close to untouchable as it got, unless you had no idea who they were. It was likely the man getting beat didn’t know who he was fighting with. Once Clint deemed the massacre to be over, he laughingly sat back on the stool and ordered two shots of Jack. The beaten man somehow left on his own power, though his face looked like a bloody blue balloon. Some drunk girl went over to Clint and rubbed her breasts in his face. While he was displeased to watch his daughter’s fiancé enjoying his victory by cheating on Ali, it was quickly forgotten when he noticed Grace suddenly grinding her ass into his crotch. Just another day in the area.

  There was no doubt that Clint was as violent as it got. Yet, there was not an ounce of fear within Owen's body. Regardless of how weak he was, he knew he could hold his own. Clint tended to swing wildly when it came to straight pugilistic brawling. He assured himself that he could see any punch that would be coming for him, and all it would take would be a simple sidestep and counter. What did he have to lose anyway? His life was ending soon. What better way than to lose it and hopefully take Clint with him?