THE CRISIS
1087 Words
It’s just day one and things are happening fast. Things are getting difficult for all of us. Family issues spare no family member. Not even the dogs and the cats. It’s a lifetime lesson that slowly sinks into my mind as I ponder my next move. I’ve gotten stupid. I should have shared with Carline. She would easily come up with a master plan. I trust that girl.
“You are going to let my daughter embarrass me like this?”
“Keen, this is just a kid.”
“I am not a kid dad.”
“You see?”
I had given her a winning cue! I quickly adjust my thoughts and fight back.
“Sorry dad. I mean mom does stuff thinking I am a kid.”
“What kind of stuff?” Dad insists.
He is really tempting me. I am placing my fingers on the table. Lifting them in quick rhythm as if I’m hitting piano keys. I want to bang the table and shout ‘I CAN’T DO THIS!’
Mom is literally shaking, “You are radicalizing her, Ted.”
Dad raises his voice bit maintain his calm. “Your actions have radicalized her. Don’t you see?”
She grabs her phone and gets up, “We can go to the bedroom. Talk over whatever this is.”
Dad stands her in her way, “We can’t talk about what is inside her head?”
“So the solution is to join this little child play?” Mom cuts in.
Dad hits the table. I shudder. He hisses some voiceless words. His vocal box groans. He clenches a fist with the right. His elbow rests on the table and rests his forehead onto it. His hairy hand is ravaged with protruding veins.
Mom’s phone vibrates. It is Frankie calling. She looks disturbed. She hastily grabs the phone. Her face as dry as a husk. She smirks then clicks as the brightness of her phone screen lightens her face. Dad and I are staring at her. She doesn’t pick he phone. It stops vibrating.
“Ted, it’s time for bed, please.” She feigns sadness.
Her phone vibrates again. “You gotta pick it baby girl,” my timid thoughts speak through my eyes. I sympathise.
“You speak to Frankie first then we retire to bed.”
Dad literally gives her a rope to hang herself to freedom. She barely lifts her chin to look at him.
“Why should I pick it up? Family time. I will ask him to be respectful.”
“Let me do it.” Dad stretches his hand towards the phone. She powerfully hands over the phone to him. Confidently. That shook me. As dad picked the receiver, the phone hanged up. A text message follows up. My mind is racing. I have to do something to postpone this.
“Dad. Mom hit me.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw something in your room.”
She looks at me, she is breathing heavily, “What did you see?” her eyes are burning.
“I saw her trying on this dress. It wasn’t fitting. I saw this dress and I wanted it.”
“Then I gave it to you, right?”
“But you have this attitude. You have hit me twice. Especially when your friends come here. You shout at me as if I am a bother. Mom, this is my home. If you want me outside when visitors come in, just tell me.”
I sigh and sit back. My eyes downcast. I have given her a piece of my mind. A one in a million chance.
“That is not how we were raised. You want to peep into my bedroom, so that you can see what? So that you can see what?”
“What are we hiding in our bedroom that our daughter has to be banned from setting foot into it?”
“I wonder, dad.”
“This is our daughter.”
“No, this is our female child, allow me mother her into a lady.”
He turns from the table to face the standing mom,“Is that the wisdom you get from Frankie’s gym?”
She moves closer to face him back, “Now you want to involve Frankie in our issues”
An embarrassed dad looks sideways then hits back, “Maybe It is a high time we talk about that.”
Dad gets up and spreads his arms, “Maybe we should.” He moves to mom’s side and sits on the table. She wants to get away. She is calculating. She is busy scheming. She should not have dug into Frankie’s name. She looks up and they lock eyes. She looks down.
“You know what, let us just sleep.” I can hear her thoughts screaming. “f**k. i***t. I shouldn’t have mentioned him. I should have avoided hitting that note.”
Like a pianist who has hit the wrong key and sent the lead singer off-key. The melody is lost. The band is trying to catch up with the new mood, trying to maintain the craze of the audience. But the audience is now shouting back to the band. Her thoughts are cursing her. Her inner person is disappointed. She has destabilized the inner peace, not just for a moment, maybe for a lifetime.
“You like him?”
“Tyra, to your room.” Mom barks.
“Tyra will just sit here. She is family, right.”
“You don’t like him?” She attacks.
That is bright of her. She neutralizes the situation. She is crafty. Dad laughs it off. He seems to have her contained.
“Maybe we can discuss. Why do you like him, and why do I like him.”
He sends her off balance. She attempts a rebuttal but hangs, she stares at Dad blankly then tears freely flow out of her. f**k me! She had to use the feminine while she clearly knows she is guilty. f**k! Why is she even crying? She wipes the tears with her arm then looks to the window.
It is quite outside. Lights are dim. Streets like flood the hood. Only the tick of the click can be heard in our living. She walks off.
“We haven’t finished.” Dad interrupts.
“I know.” She continues to walk. She pulls her nose and strikes her hair. She is bitter.
“So...”
“I am picking some of the things so that I can leave.”
“Leave to where? It is midnight.” Dad inquires.
“You know Ted, I need a break.”
“From what? This is the first family meeting.”
“I can’t be humiliated in front of my daughter.”
I was humiliated I her presence. Her ass was grabbed. She enjoyed it. I felt abused. I felt defiled. It was like my own being deflowered in the eyes of my mother. The vice versa is exactly the feeling here. I want to shout. This is utter pretense. She is playing victim. She can’t get away with it. I get my hands on the table and rise up.
“Dad, I think you need to hear this.”
- Writer
