That evening Sophie left our house and said she was worried about me being there when my father got home. I told her I was too but I had nowhere else to go. Plus there was our big old boxer Brandy, whom my mom always fed and took care of, and although he mostly slept and looked out the window all day, he needed me now and I couldn’t desert him. Brandy had been my companion for long walks when I was younger, but I had almost forgotten about him in all the chaos. He had learned to avoid the shouting and the scuffles. He kept to himself in his dog bed behind the table in the kitchen near the heat vent that he loved. But Brandy and I were in this together now and I was newly grateful for his companionship. After Sophie drove away, Brandy and I sat in the darkening living room watching the street. I was never allowed in the living room and my mother would freak out if she saw “footprints in the new carpeting” which was also celadon green and a finely woven short shag that showed every mark. This first night without my mother in the house, Brandy and I sat on the silk brocade loveseat with the down cushion. Mom could tell if anybody used it and you’d get in trouble for that too. Brandy and I perched on it and I rubbed my bare toes in the carpet, making designs. Brandy’s big neck was perfect to wrap my arms around and I sat with him and cried for my lost childhood.
The sun went down and I watched the lights come on in the houses on our street. My mom always turned on the outdoor lights, which included the lanterns on either side of the garage door, another lantern over the front door, and some spotlights that were hidden in the front landscaping and made the house look classy. I didn’t have the heart to turn them on without my mom being there. Those lights meant a lot to her. I left them off out of respect in a way, I thought. I wondered if my dad would show up at all. Maybe he would know my mom was gone and he wouldn’t come back at all. I didn’t know what was going to happen. I went to my room with Brandy. I filled the porcelain drinking glass that sat on the sink in the bathroom my brother and I were supposed to use and brought it into my room in case Brandy or I got thirsty. I pushed my big brown wooden dresser up against the door. I knew this would make my dad mad if he tried to open the door, but I also knew it would be harder for him to come into my room and if he was really crazy, I’d have time to maybe get out through the window or something. I left my clothes on in case I needed to make a run for it, and I got in bed. Brandy needed help up but he got on the bed too and we curled up together. I cried some more.
Around midnight I heard the garage door open. I thought about what to do or not do. At the last minute, I decided to push the dresser back to its place on the wall because if my dad tried to come in, finding the dresser there would make him so much madder.
Brandy stood up and thought about barking but I whispered, “Shhhh … please don’t bark. Just be quiet. Let’s both just be quiet. Go back to sleep. It’s just Dad.”
I heard him come into the house. My heart pounded. I promised myself no matter what he did to me, I wouldn’t tell where she’d gone. I heard him mount the stairs. I hoped he’d leave me alone and just go to bed. He was at my bedroom door.
“Sidney, unlock this door.”
I didn’t want to make him madder. I got up. Brandy jumped off the bed. We opened my door and there stood my father with his three-piece suit all rumpled, the vest unbuttoned, his tie loosened and crooked, his eyes red. He took off his horn-rimmed glasses he always wore and started wiping them on his untucked shirttail.
He walked into my room, pushing past me and Brandy. I couldn’t remember when I’d ever seen him inside my bedroom and I was afraid, but I was angry too and the anger was winning out. I could feel by his demeanor that he felt sorry for himself. I hated his weakness after being a bully. I thought of all his perverted undertones and his psychological twists in every argument designed to trip up my mother or my brother or me. I steeled my heart against feeling pity for him.
I clenched my fists and I screamed in my brain, “You brought this on yourself. You brought this on all of us.”
He looked around my room and I realized he was hoping she was hiding in there with me. Then he sat down on the edge of my bed which he had never done in my life and I could see he was breaking.
“She’s gone, isn’t she,” he whispered in a sincere tone that I’d never heard out of him ever before.
“Yes.”
My heart went out to him. I felt like putting my arm around him and consoling him and helping him to solve this and get it all back on track. I knew he loved her with all his heart. But this was the man who had done so many awful things. My mind raced through all the terrible memories of his brutality toward my brother—the many times I put my body between him and my older brother, because my brother wouldn’t defend himself against his beloved father. I watched as my dad browbeat his son mentally and physically so many times. My brother loved our dad so much. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I had seen too much. This grown man, defeated, on the edge of my bed in the middle of the night was a stranger to me now. I couldn’t put down my pride, my self-protection, my anger and righteous indignation and comfort him.
His shoulders shook. He was slumped over in a way I had never seen him. He was sobbing. I watched him and my heart was torn, my arms yearned to hug him.
Instead I steeled myself and spoke, “Dad, I have school in the morning. I have to go to bed.”
He looked up at me suddenly as if seeing me for the first time.
“What? How can you just stand there watching your own father cry and not want to comfort me? What is wrong with you? You’re a monster! You have no feelings for anyone but yourself.”
He stood and stared at me. I thought he might hit me and my heart pounded in my chest but I stood still and said nothing. Then he walked to the hallway.
He turned around with his hand on the doorknob, “I won’t do anything for you. You remember this when you want anything from me. You better get yourself a job because you are cut off.”
Then he slammed the door.