Page 72 of Crow

I roll my eyes at him, but pick my robe back up instead of getting dressed. There’s pretty much no point, given that I’m going to be naked in the kitchen in short order. My gag reflex is extra strong in the morning, but the way my mouth waters and my body gets ten shades of achy all around my midsection at thought of taking his thick cock into my mouth and making him lose all semblance of sanity and control, is a pretty good reassurance that I can overcome it.

Raven is definitely my new favorite breakfast food.

***

A few hours later, I pull up in front of my parents’ house.

I haven’t so much as driven past here, not even covertly or discretely since I left. I’ve gone out of my way to avoid the area entirely.

The apprehension I feel at parking in their driveway by the station wagon that I used to drive, is nearly crippling.

It takes all my courage to walk up to the front door and ring the bell.

There are a few large trees in the front yard. Their little square of grass is immaculately mown. The flowerbeds are as lovely as ever. The only thing that’s different about the place is that the glass they’ve had repaired isn’t exactly the same shade as the one on the other side. The old one is just a little bit more faded and foggy.

I wait and wait, but there’s no answer. I ring the bell again, tapping my toes anxiously. I didn’t want to antagonize my parents, so I didn’t wear any of my new clothes. I’m dressed like an eighty-year-old woman in my typical high waisted jeans and light green blouse. My hair wasn’t dry by the time I wanted to leave the house, so I braided it and twisted it into a bun at the nape of my neck.

There are zero signs of life from inside the house or from outside. Other than the birds, the yard is so eerily still.

I walk around the side of the house. There’s no fence here. The door to the garage opens to the backyard. There’s no one back here either. My dad isn’t sitting outside reading, and my mom isn’t tending her flower gardens.

Even though I feel like an intruder, I open the garage door to check if their car is here. I let out a small sigh of disappointment that doesn’t do anything to erase the twinge that tightens my chest when I see that it is.

They’re here. They’re just ignoring me.

I guess they could have gone for a walk, or they might be busy with someone who dropped by for some counselling. In the past, it wasn’t that uncommon for people to come by at all hours of the day and night, but if that was true, I would have seen a flicker of something behind the privacy glass at the door. My dad always met with people in the living room.

I shut the door and walk back to my car, forcing myself to keep my head high. I came here to try and make things right between us, but if they don’t want to do that, I’ll deal with it. It doesn’t mean that I’ll stop trying. Maybe they’re not ready yet.

The walk to my car feels a thousand years long. I turn back around even though I know that I shouldn’t, and I swear that the lace curtains in my parents’ bedroom are swaying, like someone just stepped back from the window so I wouldn’t catch them spying on me.

Probably my mom. My dad would never do anything like that. He’s far too bold. His not answering the door sent a clear message.

I try not to let my anxiety get out of control as I drive around, a little bit aimlessly. My eyes well with tears anyway.

I don’t know why I do it, but I try the church. I find myself rolling into the large asphalt lot, staring at the white walls, the stained glass windows, and the ornate roof peak with the large metal cross.

I clutch the top of the wheel with both hands and rest my chin on them. I don’t know why I’m here. I knew my dad wouldn’t be in the office if his car was at the house.

I close my eyes against the hot sting prickling the backs of them, but then I just sit and let the tears flow. My eyes fix on that cross, way up there, offset by a perfectly blue sky.

“I forgive you,” I whisper. It’s not clear who I mean. Maybe I don’t even know. I wanted to tell my parents, but maybe this is what I truly needed. I spent many hours here, probably just as many as I spent in school or at my parents’ house. Sunday school, church services, extra courses, youth group, plus all the hours that I cleaned here. My dad loved being the first person here on Sundays and for anything that was ever going on at the church, which meant that my mom and I were also always here early.

This building has seen so much of my blind obedience. Maybe indoctrination isn’t too strong of a word. I’ve cried here, laughed here, literally sat and dreamed. In addition to my own life, I’ve been to just about everyone else’s major events here. Weddings, funerals, baptisms. Beginning of life, end of life, and all the years in between. I know every single person who attends this church. I can’t remember a time when that wasn’t true. This place hasn’t just been the center of my dad’s world. It’s been mine too.

Maybe that’s why I ended up here. Something in me knew that I needed to tell this place goodbye, with the hope of returning, one day, even if it’s just to pay homage to the good memories I had here.

“I’m ready to move on now,” I whisper. “I’m ready to keep growing. I hope we can find a way forward.”

I didn’t expect to find any relief or resolution today. No real hope or absolution. I expected my parents to sit there and let the things I was saying fall on deaf ears and then to tell me that I’d strayed, and they were disappointed. I expected them to be hostile and unreceptive. Dreams and hopes are one thing, but I only counted on becoming a family again in any capacity in the far distant future.

Leaving the church behind me, I catch sight of myself in the rear view mirror. I didn’t realize that I was smiling, but I am, just a little.

Sometimes, a little is actually a lot.

Chapter 20

Crow

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