I shoved my dad out of the way, grabbing the guitar neck and swinging it out of his grasp. That’s when he tackled me headfirst in my stomach, like a line-backer on the football field. He charged me, sending me reeling back on my ass, the guitar flying from my hands and dropping to the floor with a harmonicthud.
I scrambled to get up and gain my footing, but he threw a few quick punches, hitting me in the kidney and jaw. It had been a while since he’d beat me up, mostly because I’d grown taller and stronger than him over the previous year. He was a chickenshit and coward and knew he was outweighed by his opponent.
But whatever he was on that night – a cocktail of booze and drugs – made him feel invisible and powerful, so he’d gotten the surprise attack on me and all I could do was defend myself by holding my hands up to cover my face.
That didn’t stop me from kicking, though. I shot my foot out into his groin and he fell backwards, giving me just enough time to jump to my feet. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there and leave him to pass out and sober up.
I turned toward the door and was almost across the threshold with guitar in hand when something hard and solid connected to my side. The sounds of shattering bone stunned us both, as my hand dropped the instrument and clutched at my ribs. I stared at him with shocked, wide eyes. Dangling in his hand at his side was the baseball bat, his own blood-shot eyes blinking in confusion over what he’d done. Neither of us could believe he just pummeled me with the bat. That was a new low for him.
“I think you broke my ribs, you fucking asshole,” I shouted loudly, gritting through clenched teeth as I doubled over, my bent arm wrapped around the pain, knowing I’d need to go to the hospital. “Get the fuck out of my room, now!”
For a second, I thought he’d comply. The bat hung limply from his hand, ready to drop to the floor in defeat. But just as fast, the fury and hatred that simmered inside him always boiled over and his eyes grew dark as Brazilian coffee. They became dark with rage, as he fixed his sights on me, lifting the bat to take aim.
My bent arm instinctively covered my face as he swung, connecting with my arm. I heard the bones splintering underneath the weight of the wood.
Somehow summoning enough strength, I moved out of the way and dodged the next blow. Gaining my balance, I charged hard and barreled into my dad’s body.
His head whipped backwards, his eyes bulging out in drunk surprise that I’d fight back. The fucker didn’t know me at all if he didn’t think I’d stand my ground. He staggered back, falling over and hitting the base of his head on the corner of the nightstand.
Blood leaked out from behind him, dripping down the cheap Ikea particle board and onto the carpeted floor. Confusion grabbed hold as I landed on my knees, sagging against the pain, dizziness clouding my brain.
He stared at me, his cruel, black eyes still bugged out, unblinking and unmoving. It was a snapshot in time capturing him with parted lips, as if he had one final thing to say before he just…died.
I bent at the waist, wincing from the pain, to get a closer look. I nudged him with the heel of my trembling, bruised hand.
“Hey…you okay?” My voice shook weakly.
His body didn’t move. It remained slumped over to the side, caught on the edge of the nightstand, the dark-red blood staining his grimy T-shirt.
“Dad?”
Nothing.
With reserved strength and resolve that I didn’t know I had in me, I calmly did the only thing I could think to do in that situation. I dialed 911 and waited.
Knowingnothing would ever be the same again.
