One For the Road Ch. 03

He hauled off to hit me again but I could feel the anger in my gut fueled by the alcohol I had earlier suddenly uncurl and wrap it's tendrils around my limbs, fueling me with its fury. I rocked back and caught his flailing hand in mine, stopping it before it connected. "Don't you fucking hit me!" I snarled at him, getting really close to his face. "Don't you ever fucking dare!"

"You ungrateful piece of shit!" He roared back, spittle flying from his lip, spraying around me. "This is MY HOUSE!" He tore his hand from my grasp and went to slap me again when everything just went wrong.

All I know was that I wasn't going to take another slap from my pop. At all. I don't even know when I balled my fist up. I just know that one moment his arm was racing back to deliver another blow at me and then he was on the ground, holding his bulging gut and trying to get enough air to breathe.

And for myself? I was locked in my last position, right fist extended, body hunched down slightly, chest heaving as if I had run a half mile. And it was obvious, I just punched my pop.

"Holy shit, pop!" I exclaimed, suddenly ashamed of myself. "Oh my god. Pop. I'm sorry. I'm just so..."

"Get out," he growled, getting enough air to finally answer me. He had one hand on his knee, the other on the love seat, holding himself steady. Mom was huddled over him, her arms around his chest and trying to lift him up, her eyes haunted and wild as she looked back and forth between us. He took another shuddering breath and said, "I want you gone. Now. Get out of my house, Jimmy."

"Shane, please." My mother was crying.

"Pop. I..."

Like some Irish warlord of old, my pop rose to his full height, red and grey hair flaring about his ruddy face, chest inflated and body quivering, his voice bellowed, "GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE NOW!!"

I froze, unbelieving in what had just happened. Then I turned and ran upstairs to my room, grabbed my bags and threw all my clothes into them. I swept my toiletries into another case and slung them both over my shoulder while my pop's voice resounded from the family room, "GET OUT! GET OUT, JIMMY!! GO!!"

I charged back downstairs and ran past my pop, ignoring his cries as I pounded through the cold to my Charger and tossed my meager belongings into the back seat. Tearing open the driver's side door I climbed in and started it up just as I heard my mom's voice call out, "Jimmy! Wait!"

I rolled down the window as she ran up to the car, face covered in tears and her heart visibly broken. "Mom. I am so sorry. I fucked up. I fucked up. I am so sorry. It just happened." I could feel myself losing it, beginning to blubber, my vision swimming.

"Jimmy! Please! Just take care of yourself. Give your dad a few days to calm down, ok? This was just a mistake, a terrible mistake. It's Christmas, Jimmy. Everything has been a mess and it's just gotten out of hand."

"MARY!" my pop roared from the house. "GET IN HERE!"

Mom pressed something into my hand and I noticed it was a bundle of crumbled $20's. "Here. You take care of yourself, and you call me. Let me know where you are and how you're doing. I'll work on your father and you come home before New Year's, ok?"

I felt sick. "Mom. I can't take this."

"You take it. You take it, Jimmy. You find a place to sleep, go to a friend's. And you call me every day, no matter what."

"MARY!!"

She looked back over her shoulder and then leaned into the car, giving me a big hug and pressing her tear streaked cheeks against mine. "I love you, Jimmy. Regardless of what happened or is happening, both your father and I love you."

"MARY!!"

"Go!" She ordered me, giving me one last squeeze. "Be safe, Jimmy. Go." Past her I could see my pop was coming out of the house looking like some terrible bear, storming across the lawn towards mom and me. I dropped the Dodge into reverse, slipped off the driveway, and then slapped the gear shift into first and drove away in a spray of road grit and burning rubber.

Leaving the rest of my family to fade behind me in the rear view mirror.