Dear Stanley [Watty's 2019. Completed]

Mom and Dad fight

Saturday, April 27th

Dear Stanley,

Dad quit his job.

That's why he's been home a lot more recently.

I know this because they were fighting again. Loud and clear.

It's a real fight. A nasty one.

I knew because Dad is yelling in this one. His voice was raised, razor sharp and piercing.

Mom was practically shrieking, I could imagine her pulling her hair out. "Why the fuck would you quit your job? We need to money Andrew, we need the fucking money and -"

Dad's voice followed. "Scarlett, would you just stop! I'll find another job. I wasn't happy in this one, I haven't been for a long time. This isn't about the money it's about my mental health-"

Mom scoffed, sarcastic, loud, and hefty. "Ohhh, because in the end of the day when the bills are unpaid, and we have nothing to eat, and nothing to wear, your mental health will be more important! Because if you are mentally strong Andrew, then we can survive! Who cares about the bills! Who cares about food and water! Who cares!"

Her voice was dripping with venom despite the cheery tone she wore.

I heard Dad groan in frustration before he started screaming. "You know what Scarlett. The last two weeks I've been away from that job, I've been the happiest I've been for a while."

There was silence for a moment and I think Mom was too stunned to speak.

"Two weeks? You quit your job two weeks ago?"

I thought back to two weeks ago and remember that's around the time I saw him on the doorstep.

They continued to fight and I remained in my room, pretending like I don't hear anything while writing this to you. I dig get a little bit angry at Mom though, Stanley. If Dad wasn't happy with his job, he should be able to quit it.

But the logistical side of me agrees with Mom. I don't like that logistical side though. Mom hasn't been making any effort towards me - so I don't want to agree with anything she says.

Dad on the other hand has been talking to me more and more, showing more parental affection than I've ever had in my entire life.

A question nagged at the back of my mind. If Dad quit his job weeks ago, then where does he go when he's not home?

I tried to think of where, but no answer came to mind. An ugly feeling creeped inside me - I'm not sure what it is - but I brushed it off and ignored it. He's probably just around town, enjoying himself. That explains why he's been a little bit more joyful recently.

I heard glass shatter downstairs. My instinct told me to run to make sure no one was getting hurt.

I was standing in the middle of the staircase, peering downstairs.

The vase on the table by the door was now in pieces on the ground. Mom and Dad were standing on opposite sides of the mess, breathing heavily, like animals about to war. Mom's hair was a mess, reminding me of a lions mane. It was intimidating. I could see a murderous glint in her eye.

Dad's jaw was clenched so tightly and I saw his neck tight with anger, the cords sticking out.

I saw hatred between them. A hatred so pure and so strong, that I accidentally stumbled backwards, making the stairs creak.

Their eyes averted from each other and saw me. I swear Mom's gaze hardened but Dad's softened. He relaxed a little bit and focused on me while Mom turned away. A flash of hurt passed through me at her actions.

"Nicolas. Go back upstairs son. Your mother and I just need to talk." Dad said through his clenched teeth, trying to force a smile.

I nodded my head slowly, analyzing the both of them.

"Ok Dad." I whispered out, too nervous to even utter a word.

I bolted up the stairs like a coward and locked myself in my room. But I still heard Mom's words echo through the house.

"Oh great. You and that little bitch are on the same team all of a sudden?" My jaw dropped when I heard those words.

"Don't bring him into this! He's just a kid!" Dad growled much to my relief. He defended me. I felt a swell of adoration for him.

Because even though she was fuming, I never expected her to say that. To say such a thing about me. It shocked me. Because I never thought my mother possessed that quality. The quality to say that about her own child.

But I guess adults and parents aren't as perfect as we thought Stanley. Even they lose it sometimes. Even they have to stop being an adult - stop putting on the facade that they know everything - and get all their emotions out.

You might've thought that I cried when Mom said that about me. But for some reason I didn't. It surprised me, but it didn't hurt me. It didn't destroy me. It didn't tear me apart. I just accepted it and moved on.

I guess somewhere along the way of writing these letters - I've changed. Somewhere along the way of writing these letters, I found a friend, I found a parent, and I've begun to find myself.