Then You Are Gone

n i n e t e e n

DECEMBER 25, 2016

10: 23 PM

Merry Christmas, Mom. I'm writing on a different journal now. No, not because the other one ran out of pages. My old journal, father got it. He went through my room days ago, and I saw it yesterday lying on his desk. I honestly freaked out. The contents of that journal, it's enough to send him into a rage that would cost me my left ear. I was going to take it back, but you know what? I realized I actually want him to read everything I wrote there. Maybe it will wake him up, but I don't really know. Things are already bad. It can't go worse from here, right? I could possibly lose another ear, but resilience is the name of the game and I'll get through it.

I have no idea if he's read my journal, though. If he has, he showed no signs of change. He still acted like an asshole yesterday and yeah, even tonight.

But hey, my Christmas went surprisingly well. I spent most of the day with Rose. Remember Rose, Hannah's mom? Yeah, I've been talking to her again. We had lunch at a local restaurant near the hospital where Hannah is admitted. She gave me a red scarf, hand knitted by her. I felt like a Weasley. I wore it the entire day (and still wearing it). I know you and Rose were once friends, and you'd be sad if you find out that (she's) she was a drug addict, but hey she's getting better now. She's planning to get a job after Christmas. Her eyes look a little dull, though. Maybe it's because of Hannah's condition.

Hannah, well, she's getting nowhere near from waking up. I still have hope that she will, someday. I spent the day sitting near her hospital bed, reading the second Harry Potter book out loud. I didn't leave until father messaged me saying Coach Ryan and Paris are on their way for dinner.

I didn't want to leave the hospital that I almost bailed on the dinner. It was mostly because I was nervous how the night would go, since I skipped the practices the entire month, since Paris and I weren't in good terms. I didn't even expect Paris to bring me a present, but hey, he did. We are okay now, I guess. We had an awkward small talk. The entire time, we were skirting around the big elephant in the room, not acknowledging its presence, but waiting for each other to bring it up. Our pride won. The elephant was left ignored.

The dinner was okay, I guess. It was great until Coach Ryan brought up college. Father and I have gotten into several verbal fights over the same topic. He was mad I never sent a request letter to any university during fall. Coach Ryan bringing up the topic opened the dreaded door again. He shared that (1) Paris sent college admission letters to all the UCs, that (2) he's probably gonna accepted on at least two, and that (3) Paris is taking Fine Arts. Fucking Fine Arts. No wonder Paris looked a little different today. The dude got what he wanted.

Naturally, I didn't say anything. I don't wanna ruin it by saying bitter shit. I want Fine Arts, too, but father would never let me take that path.

I'm tired of envying people for having a better father.

I thought the dinner could never get worse. Wrong. The entire thing crumbled when Coach Ryan turned the conversation towards me. He was like "You, kid, what are you going to take in college?" I really didn't know what to say. Like I said earlier, I didn't even send admission application letters, so I said nothing. Of course, father was like "What kind of question is that, Ryan? He's pursuing football, of course. By the way, how's his performance in his practices?"

Shit. My performance is shit. My balance has gotten worse throughout the year. I stared at Coach Ryan, daring him to tell my father I haven't been attending practices. I want him to say something that would contradict what father had just said. However, Coach Ryan said nothing about my shitty performances, nor did he say anything about my absences. Instead, he told my father I was getting better at catching and throwing, despite my stupid balance caused by my right ear. Even Paris jumped in to feed father with lies.

That was when I lost it. Instead of going along with their lies, I was like "Stop telling him bullshit. I skipped all my practices since November. I don't like football. I hate football. I fucking hate football and you know what? I'm never playing football again."

I left the table. I should feel happy, proud even, for saying those out loud, but instead, I feel guilty. I ruined the Christmas dinner that was supposed to be at least bearable. I've never talked to father that was in front of any else until today.

It's been an hour since it all happened. He hasn't barged in my room yet. He hasn't yelled at me. I heard no crashing of pots and pans in the kitchen. No one threw a fit of rage. The entire house is completely. Perhaps he went to Coach Ryan's house. Who knows.

PS. I just realized father and I don't greet each other Merry Christmas anymore.

Ian