His pernicious gaze chased the remaining light out of the corner where I stood. I could sense it coming; my once clean, unbroken face was about to become acquainted with the malevolence of five knuckles swinging through the air. It was as if it defied all the laws of physics as the hand glided, almost gracefully, from the edge of the window and just before it made impact, stopped mid swing. The front screen door squeaks lifelessly as it swings on its one rusty hinge back and forth.
Those eyes, like deep pools of amber, met mine. But there was no greeting; every last memory of a smile had been wiped away the instant those dilated pupils twitched in my direction. The cool wisps of his hair seem to shamelessly hide the sinister soul that lives beneath. At first glance, he is a business man. Both well groomed, and language you would see in an English major; the average customer would trust him with their wallet. I never really understood; the way he was able to flip a switch and become the other. I like the salesman the best. At work, he is cool, you know, the dad that introduces you to everyone. On “Bring Your Kids to Work Day”, he would go on and on about how proud he was of me and how lucky he is to have me for a son. All those times I am able to escape into the fictitious memories that he creates. I am finally in a world where my family is perfect and is like the relationships my friends have with their parents. Even the way he treats mom in his stories is perfect. Sometimes I even add her to my dream as he rants on to his coworkers about the wonderful things we do together.
Growing up, I never really understood how a simple brown glass bottle of soda could do so much to a man. At times I thought it was a game, brought on by the contents of the bottle, which made everyone act silly and crazy. It wasn’t until he drank more that I became a little scared.
This is the life I live in, the life I am forced to accept. I want an escape, a way out of this hell that I was born into.
Those amber eyes fade into blackness; the last thing I see is the light brown linoleum coming to catch my fall.
I awaken to a black mustache moving left and right over my face; a bright beam of light glares into my eyes as they are held open one at a time.
What is going on? The left side of my face feels as though a brick had fallen on it and it is difficult to open my left eye all the way. Although I believe I am still on the floor, I seem to be strapped to a yellow board with cushions lying beneath my back. My head is throbbing, worse than it ever has before. The man above me, inches from my face, begins talking to me. I can hear sound coming out of his mustached mouth but no words enter my head. It is as if he is speaking another language.
After about three more minutes, seemingly lifelong moments, two men pick up the yellow cushioned board and carry me through the front screen door, still hanging from one hinge as its sound creeks through the rest of the house. I don’t see him anywhere.
The men carry me out to a crimson red ambulance parked right out front of the apartment building. Two giant metal doors open, and I am smoothly lifted inside. This is my first time inside an ambulance; it’s really not as cool as you think it would be as a child pointing at one from your grandfather’s shoulders. On either side of me are two benches and the two men in EMT uniforms. I feel helpless strapped to this cushioned bed, under the eyes of those two men constantly monitoring me as they sit beside.
The ride to the hospital is smooth and short; every thought in my mind wondered what was going to happen when we got there.
Once at our destination, the metal doors open and the two men gently lift me out of the ambulance and walk me inside. I have always hated hospitals; that hospital smell that is so unique that it is indescribable and all those fluorescent lights just never really appealed to me. They carry me down the hall a little ways then turn the corner to the left. We reach room 112 and they transfer me to a white cushioned bed with wheels. I am changed into a hospital gown and they hook me up to an IV and a couple other machines. I don’t know why I am here, but am deeply comforted by the thought that he isn’t.
After a few minutes of just lying there in an empty room on that warm, white sheeted bed, a doctor comes in carrying a clipboard. He’s wearing a white coat, a nice blue satin shirt, and pleated tan slacks. His face shows his old age and the thick glass resting on his nose show no different. His eyes, so caring, look down at me and his mouth forms into a half concerned smile.
“So what have we got ourselves into here?”
I shrug at the doctor, not really sure what is wrong with me.
“It says here that you have suffered a minor concussion. Nothing major but we’d like to keep you here for a few days and make sure everything is healing alright.”
Even though I have no idea as to what a concussion is, I nod my head in concurrence with what the doctor says. The doctor reaches down and gently grabs my left arm to take my pulse. For 30 seconds it is silent; no sound reverberates through the room, I almost think I can hear my heartbeat. After doing this, the doctor relinquishes my arm back to the side of the bed and begins to examine the rest of me. His soft, warm, hands feel around my face and shoulders, making sure that there isn’t anything else wrong. He comes to my right shoulder, stopping and looking at a round black and blue spot still lingering on my skin from about two weeks ago. His face becomes more concerned but yet he still does not say a word.
“Where is my d—?” But I couldn’t bring myself to finish, something inside me didn’t want to acknowledge why I am here. The doctor stepped back, and his caring eyes met mine.
A few comforting words are all that I can remember of the end of that conversation between the doctor and I.
The night came and I lay there, transfixed by the emptiness of the hospital surrounding apart from the nurses that come in every now and then.
Every time I close my eyes I see the corner of that window frame and the clenched fist gliding gracefully through the air. My heart skips a beat just before it makes impact and brings me back to reality.