I wake up with a start, as though from a bad dream, and sit up too quickly, smacking my head against the corner of the cabinet I am curled up against. A groan of pain escapes my lips and I allow myself to lay back down, gripping my forehead with my palm. Blood oozes down my face and I realize that this is probably a very not good thing.
I absently glare at the two beer cans on the counter from last night, and wonder if it was last night at all, or if I really did leave here and was on a spaceship with Matt somewhere.
I pull myself to my feet and drag myself to the bathroom, where I press a towel to my face. I look at my reflection in the mirror. Strange as it is, my appearance seems to have changed a lot over the past few days alone. If I thought I looked awful before, I look like some sort of a ghostly creature now. Though it does appear that I may have gained some weight, the rest of my appearance is a wreck. My eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with red, surrounded by dark, almost black, rings. My hair hangs greasy and limp on my shoulders. My skin is pale and dry, as if I were dead.
I take the towel off of my face and wash it with the hand towel that I haven’t changed in weeks. I realize this is far from sanitary, but right now I am more concerned about stopping the bleeding. It is not that large of a cut, perhaps about half an inch. Head wounds always bleed an inappropriate amount. I grab a band aid from the cupboard, fully realizing that it will assist very little in stopping the bleeding, and plaster it to my head. I stare in the mirror for a few seconds, watching the blood seep through the thin barrier, then remove it and press the towel to my face again.
My phone rings and I awkwardly dig it from my pocket with one hand.
“Hey, Jack,” I make a guess, considering he is the only person who calls these days.
“Anna?” Wrong guess.
“Who is this?”
“This is your father. Who is Jack?”
“Dad?” I ignore his question.
“Yes, this is dad. Who is Jack?”
“A friend. Why are you calling?”
“A friend, friend? Or a boyfriend, friend? Well, I just haven’t seen you since I moved out, and I thought I would check up on you, see how you are doing.”
My dad moved out? When did that happen? Have I really missed this much?
“Are you still there, Anna?”
“Uh. Yeah. You moved out?”
“A few weeks ago. I guess I did not do so great at seeing you even when I was there, huh?”
“I guess not. Why are you making an effort now?” I realize that I sound like a jerk, but I care very little about that. I am more wondering what he thinks he can gain by being all friendly toward me now.
“Well, I just thought it was about time I should get to know my favourite daughter.”
“I am your only daughter, and you never cared about knowing me before. What is this? Some kind of a midlife crisis, or something? Are you having an affair and want me to side with you instead of mom? Because I really don’t give a damn about your life or hers, do whatever you want, just don’t pretend to care about me.”
“Anna—“
“No, don’t even start with me. You had your chance. You had seventeen years of chances, and you never cared, so don’t even try to pretend that you deserve to be a part of my life now, after everything. You haven’t earned that right.”
“Anna,” he tries again, and maybe I should give him a chance, let him talk, maybe even listen, but I’m tired, my head is bleeding, and my life is confusing, and he never did anything to make it better.
“Shut up and just stay out of my life, okay? I am pretty sure we are both a lot happier when we don’t talk, so just stay away from me and we can pretend that we don’t exist, okay? Bye.” I shut my phone and strangely enough feel hot tears start spilling down my face, mixing with the blood, the strange, sticky mix falling down my cheeks and onto the bathroom floor. It is that kind of crying – the kind where your tears are falling so heavy and fast they hit the floor. I do not remember the last time I cried like this. Somewhere in me, which is maybe what makes it hurt the most, is there is still a little piece of me that wishes that phone would ring again, that hopes he still cares enough to give me another chance, even if I will not offer him the same grace. But staring at my phone through blurred eyes, I know that will not happen.
That just is not the way life works. The phone does not ring again. The fighting does not just stop. Everything just is not okay at the end of the day. Love is conditional and grudges never cease. Words cut deeper than knives, making wounds that refuse to be healed. And somewhere out there in this world, there is supposed to be some sort of a meaning. But I do not see it. I have never seen it. I have seen war and tears and pain but there never is hope, there never is that light at the end of the tunnel.
And the phone will not ring again.
But now, it does.
“Dad?” My voice shakes more than I intended for it to.
“No, this is Jack.”
Of course, “Um. Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
“I am fine, what do you want?”
“I had not heard from you today. I just wondered if you were planning on coming over tonight for history lessons, or if something had happened?”
“Nothing happened. I am good.”
“Something happened. I can hear it in your voice, Anna. You are crying. Besides, the very fact that you would even say everything is good just tells me that everything is very not good. You are far from the sort of person who says “I am good”, you’re more like doom and gloom and a little rapture.”
“First of all,” I mutter, wiping my eyes with the bloody towel than pressing it hard against my forehead, “I am not a little rapture. Secondly, I am bleeding profusely from my head right now.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No.”
“Are you hung over?”
“Not really.”
“You drank last night.” It is not a question, it is a statement, but I answer it, anyway.
“Yes. But just a little. Just two cans. That is not very much, considering ythat I am apparently an alcoholic.”
“Really, Anna? What happened to sobering up?”
“It was not that much. And I do not feel so badlythis morning.”
“Why is your head bleeding?”
“I slept on the kitchen floor and-“
“Wow, that sounds like a good idea.”
“Are you going to let me finish or are you going to be a jerk?”
“Well, being a jerk was working pretty well for me, but if you ask nicely, just maybe I will let you finish.”
“I won’t, then, if this is how it is going to go.” I fume. I know that I am more upset than is necessary at the moment, but I am too tired, too worn out, too bleeding, too crying, too broken, and too unfixable to worry about the fact that I am being unreasonable towards a man whose real name I do not even know.
“I am sorry, Anna,” he sounds sincere enough, “you seem upset, and I can only imagine it has much to do with your family right now, and I should not be giving you a hard time. I will give you slack on the alcoholism today. You just frustrate me a lot. You are better than you give yourself credit for, and it bothers me when people sell themselves short.”
“Gee, I am so sorry for making your life so difficult.” I know the sarcasm is not necessary, even slightly, but for whatever reason, it is making me feel a little bit better to be a complete jerk right now. And as selfish as that is, I am taking advantage of the feeling.
“I am sorry,” he repeats himself, “please tell me how you hurt yourself. I promise to be sympathetic toward you.”
“Fine. I woke up on the kitchen floor. I had a weird dream. I woke up too fast and hit my head on the corner of the counter, and I cut my head. Now it is bleeding a lot and it will not stop bleeding. Also, my father called. I guess he moved out of the house, but I do not really know when this happened. I didn’t realize he was gone. I have mixed feelings on this. I also have mixed feelings on the fact that he called at all. I guess I am kind of angry at him, for being presumptuous enough to try to be a part of my life now, after so many years.
“And maybe this is all my fault. Maybe I am being stupid and selfish and unreasonable, but you know what, I really do not care, and I have not cared for quite some time. But I just. You know, how can he even do that? It is not fair to me. He never cared about me when I was a child. The only child he and mom ever cared about was the one that died, and they just… forgot about me, or something.” I am pleasantly surprised by how even, unaffected, and apathetic my voice sounds as I explain this. It would be hard to imagine that this was the very thing I was bawling about just a few moments before.
“I sometimes wonder,” he trails off, not finishing his thought.
“What do you wonder, Jack?”
“I wonder if my parents – my real parents – cared about me at all. I wonder why they did not find me. I wonder if they even tried at all. I was happy growing up, sure. But it still does not change the fact that someone let me go. Someone had me first, and whatever happened, whether they did abandon me, like my parents said, or whether I was adopted, or whether I was kidnapped… someone had to let go of me. And I can’t help but think, even if I were taken from my real family, that if they had cared, if they had looked hard enough, if they had looked long enough, that they would have found me. But no one ever did find me. I was left. Alone. And even more alone, after my parents died.
“I am not going to be presumptuous enough to assume that I know how ou are feeling right now, because I do not. But I do know what it is like to feel abandoned, and unloved, and like you have no one in the world looking out for you. But I will tell you something, Anna. No matter what happens in this world, I am going to be watching out for you. There is a reason that we met, and because of that I am the one who is not going to abandon you. I know right now you are looking for a parent, and I am far from being a remotely decent parent figure. But strangely, I find that I do care for you a great deal, and I am going to be here when no one else is, and I am going to take care of you when no one else will, because that is what friends do.”
“I was not aware that we were friends.”
“Well, I figured that we have got to be something, so we might as well not make it enemies.”
“I guess.”
“Are you coming over today, then?”
I nod, then realize he cannot agknowledge my nod over the phone, “yes, I will come over today.”
“Good. I will see you in about an hour? Take public transport. It is getting dark. It is not safe for you to walk around alone this late in the city, regardless of how tough you think that you are.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Does that mean you are taking public transport?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I will see you soon, then.”
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