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Unease curdles my stomach. It’s not the same unease I felt when I was a child, back when I didn’t know if I was coming home from school to a drunk, docile dad or a drunk, angry dad. Him being drunk was nevernotan option.
No. This unease is the sort that makes me feel itchy from head to toe. This is the kind of unease a person feels when they’re about to face down one of their demons—one they’ve successfully avoided for the last decade. The demon they were sure they could leave in the past, only to realize they were the epitome of naïve.
My heart begins to pound as I take a left at the fork in the road. The tall, unkept grass is almost as high as my vehicle, blocking my view. It isn’t until I reach the end of the drive that I see the trailer. I park my car and stare at the one place I shouldhave felt safe as a kid, but was the site of too many traumatic moments to count.
I don’t know why I’m here, exactly. I just know this is where I need to be. I need to unpack the baggage I’ve carried with me throughout my adult life, and the spot where most of it was created seems like a good place to start.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I put my car in park and walk across the uneven ground. I knock on the door, careful not to hit loose screen over the window.
No answer.
I knock louder, part of me hoping the trailer is unoccupied while the other part of me wants to get this hurdle over with.
My persistence is rewarded with an angry, “Hold your damn horses. I’m coming.”
Ice crystalizes in my veins. Stumbles and shuffles travel through the trailer’s thin walls, and I brace myself to see the man responsible for almost every shitty thing I experienced in childhood. Nothing prepares me for the thin, frail man who pushes open the door.
I blink once. Twice. “Dad?”
The man in question looks at me through thick-rimmed glasses. His face is drawn and wrinkled, making him look much older than his fifty-one years. “Corey?” He squints. “Is that you?”
“It’s me.” I look over his shoulder. “Are you alone?”
“Have been for ten years.”Ever since you left.
My earlier unease remains, but it’s not as strong as it was on the drive up. It’s hard to be afraid of a man when I’m half a foot taller and at least fifty pounds heavier. “Can I come in?”
He huffs and turns around, walking back into the trailer.
Taking that as a yes, I duck and step inside.
The first thing that catches my attention is that the furniture is the same from my childhood. A cold sweat breaks out on myforehead as I stare at the sun-faded couch. Flashes of cowering on the lumpy cushions flash in my mind, making me feel sick.
“What are you doing here, Corey? Aren’t you busy now that your season has started?”
I look at the old man and the nausea fades.
He can’t hurt me. Not anymore.
“I heard you were dying.” I see no point in beating around the bush.
He stiffens. Some of the anger I was used to seeing as a kid flares to life in his aged face. “Who told you that?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. I don’t want my business spread around the town like it’s some sort of twisted entertainment.”
“No one is spreading your business.” I move towards the kitchen, curiosity getting the better of me. It, too, looks the same from my childhood. Down to the ancient toaster sitting on the counter, right next to the humming pale green refrigerator. “But someone did think it might be good for yoursonto know about your failing health.”
I stand in front of the fridge. The Little League magnet the Johnsons paid for is still there in the upper right hand corner. It’s the only picture of me displayed in this house, and it includes the rest of my childhood team.
Silence follows.
When I look over, I see my dad sitting on the armchair in front of the television, staring at the black screen. “I didn’t think you’d care,” he finally mutters.
“I don’t.” I walk back into the living room and sit on the couch, hating how my pulse spikes when I do.
He nods, not at all offended. “So, I’ll ask again. What are you doing here, Corey?”
