DON’T YOU DARE READ THIS, Mrs. Dunphrey.
I know I decided I wasn’t going to write anything real in here anymore, and I know it’s crazy to touch any school stuff over break. But things are so bad, I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t do something. And sometimes it did used to make me feel a little better if I wrote things down…
Dad’s gone. For good this time, I think. And it’s all my fault—at least, Mom thinks it’s all my fault.
We didn’t see him for two weeks, then he waltzed in on Christmas Eve with a bunch of presents and a live Christmas tree. I swear, he even dressed up like Santa Claus. He came in saying, “Ho, ho, ho—has everyone in this house been good this year?” And then he started handing out presents—fancy ones. You could tell he’d had the clerks at the mall wrap them for him.
Maybe if Matt had looked happy, I would have kept my big mouth shut. But he didn’t. He looked confused. He reminded me of this puppy the Rockholds down the street used to have—Joey Rockhold hated having to take the dog for a walk, so he’d take it out on the dog, jerking his chain first one way, then the other. The dog would try to go the way Joey wanted him to go, but it was impossible. As soon as the dog started in one direction, Joey jerked him another way. That dog eventually got so mean, the Rockholds had to have him put to sleep. I always thought it was Joey’s fault.
So, anyhow, that’s how Matt looked, like that confused puppy. He didn’t know if he was supposed to run up to Dad and play along with the Santa Claus stuff, or if he was supposed to hang back with me because Dad would only be here for a little while. It’s like Dad had chains on all of us, and he was jerking us all around. Mom did run over to him and talk about how beautiful the presents were, and how he really shouldn’t have, but even she looked a little baffled and scared. I decided no chains, no faking for me.
I went over to Dad and I actually kind of shoved his chest a little—I was mad, and stupid—and I said, “We don’t need you. We were having a great Christmas Eve without you.” (That wasn’t really true. I’d tried to make Christmas cookies for Matt, but I didn’t put enough flour in, or something, and they were all too runny or burnt. And the presents I bought looked measly under that stupid silver tree we still have from when I was little. Mom didn’t get anybody anything, because she lost her Christmas money, and Matt just had some homemade stuff.) Then I said, “Who asked you to come here?”
Dad looked a little confused himself for a minute—he’s not used to being stood up to. Or maybe I just couldn’t tell what he was thinking behind the Santa beard. Then he said, “For your information, your mother asked me to come here. And last time I checked, we are the parents and we make the decisions around here.”
“Funny thing,” I said. “There must not need to be any decisions made except once a month or so.”
And then he hit me, knocked me back into the tree. I landed on the box that had Mom’s robe in it and smashed it. Matt screamed out, “Tish!” at the same time that Mom screamed out, “Ray!” The tree fell over behind me and all the Christmas lights went out at once.
All I could think was, Matt’s not supposed to see this. He’s not supposed to think Santa Claus acts this way.
Mom started pleading with Dad—to ignore me, I think—and Dad started yelling back, and then they were outside, yelling at each other so loud the neighbors had to have heard. I heard Dad say, “I know when I’m not wanted,” and then I heard his truck start. And then all we could hear was Mom crying.
And that’s been it, he hasn’t been back at all. Mom told me yesterday at breakfast, “Well, you drove him off. He left town again.” I don’t know how she knows—from some of his buddies down at the Alibi Inn, I guess. But she hasn’t said anything else to me, just looks at me real angry and tightlipped.
Matt looks at me kind of mad-like too, sometimes. He’s still confused. I’ve tried to talk to him, to tell him I didn’t mean to make Dad go away, to tell him I’d like it, too, if Dad were around all the time, being nice all the time, but that’s just not how things are. Matt nods his head and says, “Uh-huh,” when I ask him if he understands and, “Huh-uh,” when I ask if he’s upset with me. I know he doesn’t understand, though. I know he spends almost as much time crying as Mom does.
If Granma were still alive, she would understand. She would tell me I did the right thing. I think. Or would she be mad at me, too?
It’s strange how it’s such a relief now to go to work at the Burger Boy. I don’t have to think at all there, just punch in the orders and wipe down the tables and pull the French fries and onion rings out of the fryer when the buzzer goes off. I went over Bud’s head and asked Mr. Seagrave to schedule me for as many hours as possible over break. Nobody else wants to work, so I’m getting almost thirty hours this week.
Okay. Your first three entries are rather short, but your last one more than makes up for that. I’m impressed that you were inspired to write during the break! That shows a real commitment as a journal-keeper!