his room at the top of his closet. He’d put enough stuff around it to block it from view. But that didn’t matter since it was sitting on his father’s lap.
Trystan tried smiling. Ignoring the comments, he walked to the kitchen counter and placed the groceries down. Part of him hoped the guitar would be forgotten, but his dad kept it clutched on his lap. Trystan made dinner. It was a generic Hamburger Helper without the meat. He walked a plate of it over to his dad. Last time they’d eaten it, he liked it a lot. This time was different. Trystan would never forget this time.
When he reached out to hand Dad his plate, the old man swatted at it. “I’m not eating that shit. You stole it. Like you stole this!” Dad shot out of his chair. Trystan watched the plate go flying, the noodles stuck to the wall before they slid down leaving a rust colored stain in their wake.
Trystan took a deep breath, trying to brace himself. He knew it was coming. There was no reasoning with him when he was like this. It was one of the few times Trystan wished his dad was a sip away from passing out. But he wasn’t and he was angry. “I bought it, Dad. I have a job.”
“ You think I can’t provide for you? Is that it?” He advanced on his son.
Trystan stepped back. “No, that’s not it. You work hard. You shouldn’t have to cook and get groceries too.” It’s not what he thought, but now wasn’t the time for that.
“ Damn right,” his father said, taking another step forward. “I take care of you. I give you everything I have. Everything. And you repay me like this.” He pointed to the guitar. Shaking his head, Dad looked down at the instrument. One second he was calm, like he was going to hand it back, but Trystan saw the tell. His father’s lips pressed together tightly, his biceps twitching as tension corded his muscles tighter and tighter.
The guitar swung forward and smashed against the floor. It made a cacophony of notes and cracking wood as it splintered. Wood flew through the room as the strings popped off one by one. His father held the neck of the broken instrument in his hands. A single string was still attached.
Trystan swallowed hard. Rage flowed through his body, barely in check. He wanted this to end, but there was nowhere else to go. He had to stay here until graduation. That was his way out. He’d already spoken to the military recruiter. He had to keep his nose clean until then. He couldn’t fight back.
“ Put it down,” Trystan said, his voice deeper than usual.
Dad laughed, as he stepped forward, brandishing the piece of the guitar like a weapon. “Why don’t you make me. Show me who’s the man here, Trystan.” Without warning, his Dad’s arm swung. The piece of wood collided into Trystan’s thigh, sending a sharp burst of pain through his hip.
Knowing it was pointless to talk, he turned and bounded down the hallway to his room. He ran inside and pushed the door shut. His hand reached for the deadbolt, but grabbed only air. It was gone. “Shit,” Trystan said, panicked.
Just then his dad tried to crash through the door. Trystan kept his body braced against it to keep him out. With each slam, Trystan flinched. Just like old times , he thought. But now I’m old enough to keep you out, even without the lock.
Trystan knew the old man wouldn’t learn. He’d keep beating the door until he passed out or Trystan did from lack of sleep. Hours passed. His father screamed at him for the first few, but eventually it grew quiet. Trystan slid down the door, but kept his body pressed against it, ready to brace himself if his dad tried to force it open again.
It was after 1:00am the next time he heard his dad’s voice, “It was your fault, you know.”
Pain shot through Trystan’s heart, threatening to tear him in half. He’d always though it was his fault, but hearing his dad say it was unbearable. He swallowed the knot in his throat and replied, “I never said it wasn’t.”
“ You
Trystan tried smiling. Ignoring the comments, he walked to the kitchen counter and placed the groceries down. Part of him hoped the guitar would be forgotten, but his dad kept it clutched on his lap. Trystan made dinner. It was a generic Hamburger Helper without the meat. He walked a plate of it over to his dad. Last time they’d eaten it, he liked it a lot. This time was different. Trystan would never forget this time.
When he reached out to hand Dad his plate, the old man swatted at it. “I’m not eating that shit. You stole it. Like you stole this!” Dad shot out of his chair. Trystan watched the plate go flying, the noodles stuck to the wall before they slid down leaving a rust colored stain in their wake.
Trystan took a deep breath, trying to brace himself. He knew it was coming. There was no reasoning with him when he was like this. It was one of the few times Trystan wished his dad was a sip away from passing out. But he wasn’t and he was angry. “I bought it, Dad. I have a job.”
“ You think I can’t provide for you? Is that it?” He advanced on his son.
Trystan stepped back. “No, that’s not it. You work hard. You shouldn’t have to cook and get groceries too.” It’s not what he thought, but now wasn’t the time for that.
“ Damn right,” his father said, taking another step forward. “I take care of you. I give you everything I have. Everything. And you repay me like this.” He pointed to the guitar. Shaking his head, Dad looked down at the instrument. One second he was calm, like he was going to hand it back, but Trystan saw the tell. His father’s lips pressed together tightly, his biceps twitching as tension corded his muscles tighter and tighter.
The guitar swung forward and smashed against the floor. It made a cacophony of notes and cracking wood as it splintered. Wood flew through the room as the strings popped off one by one. His father held the neck of the broken instrument in his hands. A single string was still attached.
Trystan swallowed hard. Rage flowed through his body, barely in check. He wanted this to end, but there was nowhere else to go. He had to stay here until graduation. That was his way out. He’d already spoken to the military recruiter. He had to keep his nose clean until then. He couldn’t fight back.
“ Put it down,” Trystan said, his voice deeper than usual.
Dad laughed, as he stepped forward, brandishing the piece of the guitar like a weapon. “Why don’t you make me. Show me who’s the man here, Trystan.” Without warning, his Dad’s arm swung. The piece of wood collided into Trystan’s thigh, sending a sharp burst of pain through his hip.
Knowing it was pointless to talk, he turned and bounded down the hallway to his room. He ran inside and pushed the door shut. His hand reached for the deadbolt, but grabbed only air. It was gone. “Shit,” Trystan said, panicked.
Just then his dad tried to crash through the door. Trystan kept his body braced against it to keep him out. With each slam, Trystan flinched. Just like old times , he thought. But now I’m old enough to keep you out, even without the lock.
Trystan knew the old man wouldn’t learn. He’d keep beating the door until he passed out or Trystan did from lack of sleep. Hours passed. His father screamed at him for the first few, but eventually it grew quiet. Trystan slid down the door, but kept his body pressed against it, ready to brace himself if his dad tried to force it open again.
It was after 1:00am the next time he heard his dad’s voice, “It was your fault, you know.”
Pain shot through Trystan’s heart, threatening to tear him in half. He’d always though it was his fault, but hearing his dad say it was unbearable. He swallowed the knot in his throat and replied, “I never said it wasn’t.”
“ You
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