“Sorry, pop, I didn’t learn what you taught me well. I shoulda ended the fuck.” My father rolled his eyes. He’d learned that shit watching those mind-numbing shows with my sisters. Then again, I used to get dragged into watching that drivel when I was younger and didn’t pick up any of those nasty habits.
He went on and on about my behavior, which I tried to pay attention to, but I’d heard it all before. Pop doesn’t lecture; no, he’s too cool for that. Instead, he just lays shit out plain and simple. I’ve known since I was old enough to understand how much more he wants for me. How much he wishes he could shield his only son from the darker side of life. It's too late for that.
I came into the world with a fucked up past and a shitload of baggage. I didn’t always know, though. My first few years were as blissful as any kid could wish for, with two parents who spoiled the hell outta me every chance they got.
Then when I was about four, I learned that my dad had adopted me. I didn’t know what that shit meant at the time, but I understood every word when he told me he’d chosen mom and me because he loved us.
That was enough for my four-year-old ass, and shit stayed mellow for the next little while until years later when mom sprang the truth on me. Some days I look back on that shit and wonder why the fuck she ever told me that shit.
But those are the days when I’m being a bitch on the rag. Fuck those days. I like the ones where I daydream about the day I walk up on that fuck and end him. I’m pretty sure that’s what she had in mind when she told me that shit, but maybe she didn’t expect the shit to turn me into what I am.
I only have to look at my two sisters to know that there’s a huge fucking difference between us. They don’t have that history, their mother and father have been right here since the very beginning, and their conception was out of love and that deep bond that I’d watched grow between my parents over the years.
Whereas I, well, we all know what went down there. And though I love pop more than the world, facts are facts and cannot be changed. I have fucked up blood in me. I know that shit because I know me. Though I’m not as low as the motherfucker who violated my mom, I do have some tendencies that the rest of my family don’t.
Even pop, as hard as he is, would probably shake his head if he knew what the fuck was up with his son. But I sometimes wonder if things would’ve been the same had ma not told me what she had.
I try to remember the years before I knew that shit, and it’s hard. No matter what I look at in life, that shit’s always there to taint it. I don’t think ma knew that either, that that shit would sit on my back like a leech, sucking the life and blood out of me until this day.
I doubt she would’ve told me had she known how it would shape me, mold me, and make me into something even she would be afraid of. I don’t think any son should ever have to hear that shit or even know that it exists.
It took me a long time to come to grips with the blood that runs in my veins. A long time to stop comparing myself to the man who’d fathered me and the awful shit he’d done to do it.
“You okay, son? I notice lately you’ve been a bit… withdrawn.” Shit, then I’m not doing as good a job as I thought hiding my true emotions. Or maybe pop just knows me too well.
“I’m good, pop.” Though I have something to tell you but I don’t know how to say that shit. “I’m heading back downstairs. Ma’s making something that smells really good.”
“Save some for me, will you, son? Your sisters eat like truckers.”
That’s the running joke in the house. My twin sisters, who are the daintiest things you’ve ever seen, can out eat me any day of the week. “We good pop?” He nodded his head and went back to what he was doing before I came in. Probably still hard at work trying to take the biz legit to pass on to his son. I could’ve told him he was wasting his time.
I bypassed the kitchen and headed for the front door, pulling my ringing phone as I reached it. “I’m heading out.”
“Where?”
“The cops were at my house.”
“Dammit, Gabriel, don’t go nowhere. I’m coming over.” Fuck, the other half of my conscience.