Page 25 of Rose's Ripped Van Winkle

“I eat foods you’d never approve of and read books that would scandalize you. You know what? God hasn’t struck me down.”

My dad sputters and is working up a head of steam to give me one of those horrible never-ending sermons he forced me to listen to for my entire life. I cut him off with a forceful slash of my hand and continue my own tirade. It’s been a long time coming. The words spill from my mouth.

“I worship in my own way and…” I pause for effect, knowing this is going to push their buttons, “I have my own beliefs about God.”

“That’s enough Rose Marie Bennett.” My dad’s harsh tone is full of warning.

“That’s right. I have complete control over what happens here.” I point to my temple. “You no longer take up space in my head. I’ve evicted you and your small, petty, unyielding ways.”

I know my time is short. Any moment now, my father is going to start talking, lecturing in that way of his that prevents any interruption.

“I believe all people are created equal. I believe we’re all entitled to the pursuit of happiness. I’m happy I’m not with you. And you know what? Your spiteful beliefs that have no foundation in the Bible are no longer ringing in my ears.”

Quickly now, before he starts spewing, I add, “I miss you, Luke, Caleb. I miss all of you, but not enough to get close enough to absorb your poison. If you have it in your heart, you’ll give my email address to my sisters and brothers. If they’re still not allowed on the Internet, you have my physical address. I’d love their letters.”

“Rose!” My dad takes a step toward me.

I know his expression. This is the face he wears right before he shows us what “spare the rod and spoil the child” means.

I feel every muscle in Rip’s body tighten as he leans forward, clearly losing his ability to hold back.

“Get out! All of you!” My voice is shrill.

I ease away from Rip and easily lay my hand on the manilla folder tucked between two books on the shelf.

“This is a restraining order.” I pull the sheet of paper, in its plastic protective sleeve, out of the envelope. “It prohibits you from coming within one hundred yards of me. I’m telling you to leave.”

My brothers and father pause as their faces cloud with anger. I have distance now that I’ve been away from them. It’s odd how I can read every expression on my father’s face. I guess it’s not so surprising. For my entire childhood being able to read his emotions meant the difference between safety and a beating.

He’s assessing how much he can push the issue. Does he know how spotty my cell service is? That I couldn’t call the sheriff right now if I wanted to?

I push that aside, wanting him to hear the confidence in my voice when I stand in my full power and say, “I know what it’s like receiving an order I don’t want to follow. All your children do.”

I stare my father straight in the eyes. “Now I’m telling you: LEAVE!”

The tension in the air is thick as I stand firm, proud that I’m no longer living in a world where their rules are law.

My father’s face flares so red I wonder if he’s going to have a stroke. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him this angry.

For a moment, he looks as though he might start a fight. He seems to be assessing his options. Although Rip and I are outnumbered, he must think better of crossing the line into a physical altercation.

Rip’s muscular arm around my waist, his physical and emotional support, lend me strength as I wait to see what my father is going to do next.

Finally, he turns his back on me and walks away.

“Come boys. We’re going home and will tell your sisters and brothers that Rosie is dead. It’s the truth. She’s dead to us.”

How many times have I played out this interaction, or something similar to it in my head? I did it for years before I gathered the nerve to leave, always believing it would devastate me, kill something deep in my soul if I was shunned.

Instead, I simply feel sad. Sad that it turned out this way.

“Luke! Caleb! You know where to find me. If you ever get the balls to leave, to have a life of your own out from under the thumb of a controlling madman, I’ll help you in any way I can.”

The last half of that sentence was lost to them, though I yelled it, because they had already crossed the threshold and slammed the door.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rip

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