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Pater Familias - Father Of The Family
Mel is eight years old when she watches Daddy carry his suitcases to the door.
Becca is sleeping in her bedroom - she had a meltdown that morning, after Momma left for work. Becca wouldn't stop screaming and now Mel is covered in deep scratches and red marks that she knows will darken into purpling bruises from trying to hold Becca's head still and stop her from hitting it against the floor - it has only been five weeks since Becca had to have brain surgery after falling down the stairs and Mel was afraid of what sort of damage Becca might do to herself without meaning to.
Becca had eventually screamed herself into exhaustion and Mel pulled Becca's blankets and pillows off her bed to make her comfortable where she was curled up on the floor, drifting into an exhausted sleep - Mel had tried to lift Becca onto the bed, but she wasn't strong enough, and when she tried to find Daddy to help, the door of the master bedroom had been locked and he hadn't responded to her knocking.
Seeing him now is the first time that Mel's seen him in hours and she's confused - there is nothing written on the big whiteboard with their weekly and monthly schedules for today's date, so she doesn't know why he has packed his suitcases and brought them downstairs to load into his car when they don't have any plans.
"Are we going somewhere?" she finally asks, her hands twisting together, anxious.
Daddy exhales noisily; the sudden, rough sound makes her flinch - she doesn't like loud sounds, or unexpected ones. Being around Daddy often makes her nervous and twitchy, because he's always so loud, and she never knows when to expect a sudden bark of laughter or a slammed door or a fist pounding against the wall.
It always makes Daddy angry when he sees her flinch. This always makes him even louder which makes Mel even jumpier. Usually, he will eventually he storm off and Mel will hide in her wooden toy-box, squeezing herself into a tiny ball to fit inside it as she tries to slow down her breathing and her rabbiting heart-beat.
She's glad that Daddy's back is still to her and that he didn't see her twitch. He remains standing there with his back to her for what feels like a very long moment before he turns around to face her.
Mel doesn't understand what the expression on his face means. She likes how Momma always tells her how she's feeling - "I'm sad today, Mel" or "I'm really excited about this new book" or "I'm nervous you won't like this new recipe". It means that Mel doesn't have to feel so stressed all the time, trying to figure out if she's upset with her or not. She only really knows how Daddy feels when he's angry, because he's always so loud in his anger.
"Look, Melissa," he says, running a hand through his hair. "I know you're not the smartest kid."
Mel swallows past the lump in her throat, feeling her cheeks burn red as she looks down at the floor, unable to even attempt to meet Daddy's eyes, the way he always demands she does when he's talking.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. Daddy sighs again.
"It doesn't matter," he says, "there's nothing we can do to fix it."
Mel's eyes sting. Her vision has gone all blurry.
"You'll probably get a lot of shit for it," Daddy continues. "Less then Rebecca, though. You almost look normal next to her. For years, I really, really thought that at least one of my children wasn't goddamn defective."
"I'm sorry," Mel whispers again. There's an emotion curdling in her stomach that she doesn't recognise; it's heavy and awful and makes her feel a little bit like she's going to vomit.
"I never signed up for this," Daddy tells her, and when she carefully peeks up at him, his eyes are pinched and the corners of his mouth are turned downward. "I just wanted a normal family, with kids I can actually take to my work parties and cheer on at their sports games and all that shit that proper families get to do. I don't want to be wiping my kid's ass until I'm old enough to be in diapers."
"Becca can clean herself after using the toilet when she does a wee, now," Mel corrects him. She's really proud of Becca's progress - Becca hates using the toilet, she's afraid of the flush and can't stand the splashing when she does a poo. She used to climb into the empty bath when she needed to relieve herself, and Mel would clean the mess up afterwards, or Momma would, if she was home, and Mel would bring in the toilet paper and help Becca wipe herself clean. Becca now uses the toilet when she needs to wee, though she won't flush it, and she can carefully wipe herself clean. Mel isn't sure why Daddy is talking about helping Becca clean herself, though - he doesn't wipe Becca, he says it isn't right for him to.
"See, this is the exact shit I'm talking about!" Daddy's voice is too loud and he gestures sharply with his hands. Mel almost takes a step back - he grabs her sometimes, and forces her to look up at his face, or grips onto her wrists and squeezes them really tight while telling her to stop flapping her hands around like some sort of spazz. "It shouldn't be so fucking much to ask for, to have normal kids and a wife who actually wants me, instead of always saying she's tired or has headaches and never wants to go out, because she has to stay home to look after our fucking retarded kid!"
Mel can't help but back away from him, wrapping her arms around herself as she rocks in place. Daddy is angry and shouting and he's being cruel and she doesn't understand why. She doesn't understand why he's so upset, or what she's done to make him so cross. She wants him to hug her, like Momma does - squeezing her so tight against his chest that it's a little bit hard to breathe, but not like it's hard to breathe now, like there's a lump in her throat that’s choking her.
He doesn't hug her. He just looks across at her with an expression that makes Mel feel so, so, so small.
"I have to go," he says, and there's something about those words that shivers along Mel's spine, an unpleasant crawling sensation like someone lightly tracing their fingertips down her back.
"Where?" she asks.
"It doesn't matter. Away from here," he answers as he looks down at his hands. Mel watches as he starts fiddling with one of the fingers on his left hand.
"How long do you have to go for?" she asks him. He's stopped fiddling now. Mel can see that he's holding his wedding ring; a small, tarnished-looking band of gold. Its surface is dull, like there's a build up of film from its exposure to daily dirt, sweat, and soap. Momma's wedding ring gleams bright gold, always shining against the fair skin of her hands. Mel thinks Daddy's ring looks like he doesn't care about looking after it. Mel knows how important it is to look after the belongings that are precious to her - and the people, too. She thinks that Daddy isn't very good at looking after the people who are precious to him, either.
"God, you can be so stupid, Melissa," Daddy groans, rolling his eyes. Mel's eyes track as he fiddles for the wedding ring for a moment before he tosses it in her direction. Mel fumbles, but manages to catch it. "Hold onto that for your Momma, okay?" he says. "You're not going to see me for a long time."
"How long is a long time?" Mel asks, holding the wedding ring so tightly in her clenched hand that she knows it will leave marks on her skin. "A few weeks?"
She hopes he isn’t going away that long. When Daddy leaves them during the day while Momma is at work, Mel is the only one who can look after Becca. Last time Daddy left them, Mel had to call an ambulance after Becca had a seizure and she was so dizzy and confused afterwards that she fell down the stairs and hit her head.
Mel was so afraid that Becca might be dead, there was so much blood under her head and Becca wasn't responding. Their house doesn't have a working landline - it was disconnected when Daddy and Momma had to choose between the electricity bill and the phone bill - and Daddy had taken his mobile phone with him when he went out, so Mel had to run next door to ring 9-1-1. It had been terrifying and Mel doesn't want to be the only one with Becca if something like that happens again.
Daddy laughs, a short, harsh bark of laughter. Mel twitches, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or he just doesn't care.
"Do you seriously not understand, Melissa?" he asks. "I'm leaving and I'm not coming back. I can't deal with this - this circus freak show anymore. I just can't take being here anymore."
"Maybe we could move?" Mel offers, even though she hates the thought of leaving behind her bedroom. It's her favourite place, because Momma bought these nice black-out curtains and there's a closet that Mel can fit in when she outgrows her toy-box and Momma let her paint the walls a colour that Mel picked out. She finds the cool tones of the soft blue paint very effective in calming down her nervous system. But she won't complain about moving, not if Daddy hates where they live so much. "If we go somewhere else, you won't have to be here anymore." She tells him.
"You're not understanding, Melissa," Daddy sighs again. She thinks he might be disappointed, or frustrated. Both expressions look very similar on his face. "Moving house definitely wouldn't fix this - don't you fucking get it? There's a goddamn leak in this ship, and I'm not going down with it."
"I don't understand," Mel whispers. Why is Daddy talking about sinking ships?
"Of course you don't," Daddy says, as he bends and picks up his suitcases, one in each hand. "Goodbye, Melissa."
"When are you coming back?" she asks, because he still hasn’t said. Her cheeks are wet and cold.
Daddy doesn’t answer her. He just turns away and walks out the door, opening it awkwardly with his elbow before striding outside. The door slams shut behind him - Mel thinks he must have used his foot to push it firmly shut.
Mel stays standing there as she listens to his car engine start then eventually fade away in the distance. It leaves a damning silence behind, because Mel wasn't good enough and now Daddy's gone.