In the face

I visited my mom last night. I can't say I wanted to go to her house, but it felt like something necessary since I hadn't seen her in quite some time. It was weird going, great weather with the wind blowing and good music on the radio - but there was an apprehension in the truck, around me, it enveloped me. I pushed harder on the pedal and finally made it. I toured her new kitchen, admiring the new cabinets and appliances - really I could care less about all of it. Who gives a fuk if you get a new dishwasher other than yourself and whomever may live with you? We ate dinner - thankfully she did not cook, some store bought chicken. I feigned interest as she rambled.

After an hour or so, she hit upon a often visited topic - my father. With good reason, she has nothing positive to say about the man. Let's face it, he's a self-involved prick. He's scarred all of us (me, mom and siblings) in his own way. She retold some familiar stories and then covered a few things I had either forgotten or never heard - tales of his nastiness, his anger, his idiocy and so forth. I felt it as she spoke, all the apprehension from visiting her now pooled together in a cloud - it was anger. It all returned, my anger for this man - this man who could've just walked away from all of us and stayed away, but no, he returned time and time again, he reappeared to wreck havoc, to ruin lives, to scar children, to leave his mark on the very people he created.

The visit lasted a couple hours, I collected my things, slapped a kiss on her cheek and headed home. I felt the rage and hurt well up in side me. I pounded the steering wheel with my fist while speeding down the highway. A tear formed and ran down my cheek, I was embarrassed - ashamed that he had hurt me once again. I pulled off the sunglasses and wiped the tear, looking around to make sure nobody noticed. The idea came to me at that moment, I would kill him. The methods swirled in my mind - strangle, gunshot, good shove, and on and on. Strangling seemed the best, because it offered the advantage of actually doing it, feeling it and a front row seat watching. I imagined letting go, stepping away and watching the limber body recede. I finally arrived home and other things required my attention, but it was all there in the back of my mind.

That night's sleep was erratic and yet vivid. I awoke a few times before finally falling into a deep sleep - a sleep where a chaotic dream grabbed me. He was in front of me as I raised the weapon - one, two, three shots to the face and he crumpled in a heap. One step forward and I loomed over the pile of flesh. The funny part was the hurt was still there, his death stopped nothing, he had masterfully done his dirty work much earlier, left horrible memories that rained on our everyday lives. The ones that unfortunately loved us, had to suffer the repercussions of his actions. I awoke in a panic, looked around in the darkness, the sleeping body to my left. I laid back, stared at the ceiling, realizing the fantasy was unreachable as he, the memories of him, the results of his actions, would never die or be killed. I rolled over and fell asleep.