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The car was dirt. As dad shoved himself in, i sighed. Another car ride, another chance to die. With my head down, i got in. Here we go.
Where we were going, i never know. Never cared enough to ask. Dad always got real mad and drove. I guess it was his way of running from his problems...or driving.
Life wasnt my kind of thing, i guess you could say. My parents didnt want me around. My brother resented me. He was all i had to get through all the s*** we're delt. But, it got the best of him too fast. The rest of my family was non-existant. Dead or unknown. Thats how its always been.
As the car engine spit, dad tried to speed up. The only reason he ever dragged me along, was 2 reasons. Alchohol was his best friend, so he needed me to make sure the car got home in one piece. He was too lazy to buy insurance, i suppose. The other reason was, that he needed a punching bag. I still had a black eye and two cuts above my left eye brow from the last drive. I didnt care though. Not anymore. I found ways to escape the misery i face. More metaphorical escapes than literal. Music was my main. My passion was music, my addiction, my home...
We were on a country road, now. Dad was heading out of town. This was new. That sense of "new" scared me a little. Usually i could predict dad and his thoughts. But "new" was making all my predictions just hopes. False hopes. What next?
Im not one to have a favorite genre of music. I like it all, per say. But, older music intereges me most. Older music is the beginning. I dont mean like "row row row your boat, old. But, 1900's old. 20's and so on, really. Thats when music was made with passion right in the beat of it all. People made it because thats what they loved. Thats how they could express what and how they felt. It was real. It was their escape. My generation has lost that sense of love. Its made for a quick buck, and i would b-
"you know what?", dad asked me in a slurred, violent tone. I assumed the question was hitorical, as they always were. Answerering was a garunteed blow to the skull. "No way! No! I think....we arent going back. That w**** does nothing but nag and i work my a** off for...er' day!. This...". Dad was rambling on, swaying forward occassionally, stepping on the gas. He was drunk and spilling his anger and sput onto the windshield....and me. I lost track of his words.
A smack surprised me. It was harder than normal. It kncoked my head off the passenger side window. Shocking that it didnt crack or shatter right there.
"you hear me boy?" he said. With my head down, i nodded slightly. Fixing my glasses that were now bent, i looked up. I saw the anger dripping from his lips. He furiated me. I looked at him with such hate, such despise. He didnt want me here, he didnt want me alive. I can say the feeling is mutual.
"you arent nothin'. you werent supposed to be born, neither. Just a mistake. We kept ya, hoping you might turn out good. A risk, id like to take back"
If i could even compare to my father in size or strength, I'd kill him. But, i was a skinny guy. Dark hair, blue eyes, tall. My dad was more of a lumber jack build. Oh, how i wish i could smack him right back.
As my anger brewed, i grabbed at my jeans. Faded blue and ripped. I tugged and tightened my grip, trying to avoid a fist for dad to see.
He kept nudging me, hitting me to mock my lack of reaction. Thats all he ever wanted; a reaction. To see the pain he causes me. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. Then, he concocted a mizture of mucus and beer- stained saliva and rolled down the window. He struggled to hock it out of his gullet.
I made a fist and slammed it hard on my thigh. In my pocket, i hit something hard. With a puzzled face, i reached in and took out the mystery. My mp3 was now in my hand. The meta glowing in the sunlight. My savior.
Still managing to spit out the window and drive, Dad was getting worse. I quickly unravled my headphones and stuck them in my ears. Dad turned to me. I turned my mp3 on and played the first song i could. "i cant give you anything but love" by the great Billie Holiday. An old 40's song. A trumpet and piano started off making noise, so sweet. It would make a senial man, not help but to dance.
Through my tiny headphones, the music leaked out and right into dad's ears. It furiated him to a degree that was more than irrational. His neck shot over to my direction. For a second, i thought of cowering down, quickly taking out the headphones and suffering a beating, at worst. But, thats how ive always done it, never sticking up for myself. Even, when i have all the right in the world. I never dared.
Dad screamed so loudly, but i didnt hear him. My music was all i heard. All that my ears allowed. I looked over and saw his face turn red as he pointed his fingers at me, yelling. A large smile that i could help, appeared on my face. I hadnt smiled in so long, i nearly forgot the feeling. As he got more frustrated and his voice grew louder, my smirk grew larger. Music was all i needed now, all i had. All my pain, anger, frustration and hate flushed away with every beat. Finally, i felt ok.
Dad had taken his eyes off the road without even noticing, trying to get my attention. Since he was drunk, not only did he not notice, but he didnt care. I closed my eyes and put my head back. I felt his fists against my jaw, one by one. Over and over. But i felt no pain. I knew he was hitting me as hard as his bare muscle would allow, but it didnt damage me. As he went to hit me again, his hands left the steering wheel. As he shifted his body, he stepped on the gas. In a flash, the car flew through the guard rail. I wasnt scared, but yet, i was ok with it. Flying through the air, off the side of a mountain, i knew it was over. For the first time, i felt dad's fear. And also for the first time, i didnt feel my own.
A few hundred feet, felt like a couple seconds. I didnt even know we could fall so fast. The car turned into a piece of scrap metal when the ride had ended. It was over. I was dead. But, to the worlds amazement, my mp3 lay only a foot away from the wreck. Undamaged, not a scratch on it. Billie Holiday still putting her emotions into music, into a way we all understand. Into an escape.