Escape From Home: Winner of Phuket Magazine and Mom Tri's Boathouse...Short Fiction Award 2006

As the bus stopped and the passengers began filing out, Juan put on a big grin--a big goofy childish grin. He was totally enjoying his run-away adventure. I, on the other hand, was scared to death.

“How are we getting home from here?” I opened my new wallet and pulled out the twenty that Sandra had given me secretly. “We catch a cab…I don’t want to get on another bus. My butt hurts,” I said while rubbing my backside.

“Yep, my butt hurts too,” Juan said while imitating my movements as we jumped in a cab.

In the elevator I pressed the button to the ninth floor. All of the old familiarity of this place came rushing back. It wasn’t the same—but it was. I had to find a dry spot on the floor of the elevator. Urine was everywhere. Juan opted to stand in the middle of a puddle. There was also the unmistakable smell of malt liquor, the poor man’s Champagne. The smell made me come close to vomiting.

I couldn’t help but notice the writing and graffiti that was written all over the elevator walls. There was no street art on these walls, only gang symbols, curse words, ghetto poetry, and of course the listing of all the girls who gave it up; TAMIKA GIVE GOOD HEAD, IF ANYBODY WANT TO HAVE FUN CALL JACKIE.

I found myself making mental spelling corrections and wondering why these ghetto Plato authors didn’t bother taking a few seconds to check spelling. The elevator would be repainted and the messages would go up as soon as the paint dried. There would be more misspelled words and more piss to cover them.

Juan’s twisted face let me know that he felt that this place…our new home, was utterly disgusting. We both gave an exasperated sigh as we left the elevator and walked past the rat infested incinerator. Instinctively, I picked up a rock and tossed it down the hall close to the incinerator to give the rats a moment to clear a path.

Our oldest sister Regina answered the door. Her face showed that she had been crying. “Oh my God-- can’t believe it--we were so worried about you—thank God you’re alright,” she managed to say in one breath.

“What do you mean worried?” I said in a frightened tone. “How did you know we left Chicago?”

She managed to control her sobs long enough to release a few sentences, “Your school called this morning when you didn’t show up. Your father called and asked if we talked to you.”

“What time did he call?” I asked impatiently.

“Around ten.”

Regina,” I said urgently. “Where’s Mom? He could be on his way here now. We got to---”

“Sebastian,” she interrupted. “He’s already here. He got here around four. He just went across the street to get Momma from work.”

“Regina, we got to get out of here!” I began looking around. “If he finds us here he’s going to kill me!”

“Calm down, I believe you. But where are you going to go where he can’t find you?” She held my hand. “You know how he is; he won’t leave."

I sat down, I was tired and I knew that I had no choice but to wait and to face him. Regina sat next to me and whispered, “I know what he did to you. Mom said that she would go to court to get you back if she had to.”

She was trying to comfort me. But I knew that he wouldn’t let me go. Just as Regina finished her sentence, the front door opened. When I saw his face, any strength that I had left escaped me. I felt lifeless. Mom rushed over to me --tears already falling. She grabbed me and kissed me.

As she was hugging Juan, Daddy rushed over and grabbed me by the arm and jerked me into the air. He dragged me down the hallway. Mom started screaming something in the background. He opened the bathroom door and swung me in the bathroom as easily as if I were a rag doll. He turned and looked at my hysterical mother.

"I’m just going to talk to him—that’s all.” He said almost too calmly.

“No! You talk to him out here.” she demanded.

"I am going to talk to my son in private and there isn’t a damn thing that you can do about it!” He said challengingly.

"If you touch him, so help me God, I will call the police and I don’t give a damn what happens…do you understand me?”

He slowly closed the door.He stepped towards me and I scooted as far back as I could against the wall. He picked me up by one of my arms and slammed me onto the toilet seat. He didn’t have the look of a father in his face or even the monster that I had come to know. He looked at me as one would look at their enemy in battle. I was not his son, I was his opponent. He knelt down besides me and spoke to me in whispers, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

I fought back tears. Through a weakened voice I said, “I just wanted to come home.”

Still whispering, “Oh, you just wanted to come home. You didn’t care that everyone was worried about you and that you could have gotten you and your little brother killed.” He clinched his teeth, “Don’t worry…we’re going home.”

“Please Daddy,” I begged, “I want to stay with Mom—please, I won’t say anything—”

“You won’t say anything about what?” He slightly grinned. Seconds later the grin vanished and he grabbed my neck and started to squeeze. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to scream for help but I couldn’t manage a sound. I felt myself getting weaker. He placed his index finger to his lips.

“Shh,” he whispered has he loosened his grip but kept his hand around my throat. “Don’t make me do it again…understand?” I nodded.

“Now listen carefully,” he began. “And when I am finished talking, you will get up and go in there, kiss your mother, tell her that you’re sorry for all the trouble that you caused, and kiss her goodbye.” I shook my head.

“Because my boy, if you don’t—you’ll never see her again.”

I almost screamed but his look stopped me. “Come on son,” he put his lips next to my ear, “you know what I will do to your family…don’t you?” He got off his knees and took two steps back. He walked towards the door and put his hand on the knob. “We’re going now—aren’t we?” I nodded. He motioned me to come to him.

He bent down and pressed his mouth against my forehead, “Little boy, don’t make me hurt you.” He kissed my forehead, opened the door and motioned for me to leave.

"Mom,” I said quietly. “We have to go.”

She looked at me in amazement. “What?” was all she managed to say.

“I’m sorry that I ran away and got everybody upset. I’m going back to Chicago with Daddy.”“Mom, I have to go.” I hugged her and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be back.”

We walked away with my family crying loudly in the background. He didn’t even mention taking Juan. Juan’s face was both scared and relieved. He held his breath as we walked away.We didn’t speak again until we were boarding the plane.

I must have looked as if I was going to run—I think that I was. He said in a slow clear voice, “If you embarrass me…I’ll fucking kill you.”

Before we got to our street, he made that all too familiar turn towards the secret apartment. He turned off the engine. “You had me go all the way to St. Louis for your little ass! You owe me!Understand?”

He got out of the car and walked into the apartment. I followed. We went into the back room and he stood by the couch with both his hands wedged firmly against his hips. On the coffee table there was a magazine from Thailand. I looked through the magazine so many times just wishing that I was anywhere but here. On page 29, there was a picture of a boathouse, Mom Tri’s Boathouse. Whenever he was with me, my mind took me to this beautiful place where you can see the ocean and the people would smile and not hurt you.

“You better make this damn good!” he said coolly. “It better be so good that I forget all of the crap you put me through! Understand me boy?”

I walked over to the couch without saying a word. He stood immoveable as he watched. I walked over to him and took his hand. As I fought to hold back the tears I said, “I understand Daddy.”