Open Your Eyes to Reality (Chapter 2)

Everyone had their eyes locked on me. I quietly cleared my throat and opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My father’s eyes burned a hole in the center of my heart. I could imagine him with my pumping heart in his hands, blood dripping to the ground, evil in his wicked, green eyes. I choked on my own saliva as I tried to swallow, covering my mouth and looking across the crowd with pleading eyes. Help me. I took the cold microphone in my hands; they shook so bad I was certain I would drop it. Bringing the microphone to my chapped lips, I took a deep breath of air. It stung in my lungs. Any minute now I would collapse to the ground and die right next to my mother. If I got lucky, they might bury us in the same hole.

“H-hello,” I stuttered, trying to find the right words to say, “Hi everyone.” Come on, Derrick. Think. My head started throbbing again, but my mind didn’t take over this time; my emotions did. Tears started pouring from my eyes. The microphone dropped to the floor with a loud thud as I instinctively reached up to cover my face. The rain fell harder now, a few people pulled out their umbrellas to shield themselves. The ones that didn’t stepped under the giant oak trees. Rain still dripped off the branches, but at least they weren’t standing where I was. There must have been a giant rain cloud directly above my head because my black suit was drenched by the time I stepped off the stage. And then I ran. In the rain, you couldn’t tell I was crying but I was. The grass was getting muddy and I tripped over my own feet, landing in a pile of dirt. It splashed up in my face and thick, curly hair. I kept staring at the ground, too weak to pull myself back up to my feet and run away. A pair of shiny, black dress shoes stomped inches away from my face. More mud speckled my skin. I looked up to see my father towering over me. Kill me now. I’m screwed. He clenched his fists and I knew that as soon as we got home, I would turn into his own personal punching bag.

I buried my face in the mud, not even caring. He pulled me by the nape of my neck up to him and I screamed in agonizing pain.

“Walk,” He demanded, pushing me. He walked in front of me and turned around, bringing his fist to my chest hard. I winced and doubled over, thinking the bile in my throat would spill out of my mouth. “I’m not playing, boy.” I wiped the tears from my eyes and sprinted to the car, got in and pulled the seat belt over my lap. I looked in the rear view mirror as my father neared the car; just seeing him getting closer made me fear for my life. He got into the car and started it all in one swift move and then sped away in the direction of our house. My heart raced faster and faster the closer we got to home and by the time we pulled into the driveway, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. At this point, a heart attack sounded sugary sweet compared to being beat by a man twice as strong and big as me. I took what I assumed would be my last breath and waited for the impact of the first hit. I closed my eyes tight and bit the inside of my cheek. But it wasn’t time yet. I should have known he wouldn’t do it here in the open where someone might see. He was breathing heavily as he parked the car, the brakes screeching as we stopped. I opened my eyes to see the rain slide off the windshield of the car. Then, out of the corner of my eye I watched as my father lifted his hand in a clenched fist. Here it comes. But instead of hitting me like expected, he put his cold hand over mine. Every muscle in my body tightened, my eyes widened and my heart felt like it was going to explode.

In almost a whisper I heard him say, “I would have panicked the same way you did today if I had gotten up there on that stage in front of those people. It’s okay, son.”