Page 8 of Rectify

“She said something about a school.”

“I took her to a childcare today.” She lowers her head, avoiding my eyes. “I was thinking of getting her enrolled.”

“We spoke about this,” I grit out. “What’s wrong with you taking care of her like we agreed?”

“I don’t want to do this, Jay.”

Lily squirms in my arms, and I release her, grateful that for now, she is oblivious to my new reoccurring, and not so pleasant mood. Playing house with Max is the last thing I wanted to do, but when my plan to rent out a place in the suburbs instead of moving back into my Dad’s didn’t work out as quick as I needed it to; I had to think smarter, and not work myself harder. No matter how much being here, and cleaning up a mess I didn’t make is going to impact the carefully constructed life I’ve built for Lily and me.

“I didn’t plan for this either, but I’m out of choices here.”

“Well, what’s wrong with her going to school anyhow? She’s not going to learn anything being in this shit hole with me.”

“I barely know anyone or anything about this area anymore. I’m not going to trust some stranger with her.”

“Relax a little, they’re fucking professionals, and the lady there was really friendly. She showed us around and was so sweet to Lily.” She stops cutting and places the knife down on the chopping board. Looking up at me, her brown eyes don’t hide how irksome she finds me. “I’m not completely bereft of any common sense or responsibility.”

“I didn’t say that,” I offer, the slightest twinge of guilt scratching at my conscience.

“You didn’t have to. I know we got our shit, but Lily is off limits. I know that.” Picking the blade back up, her actions end the conversation.

Unsure of what to say or do next, I take the coward’s way out and escape to my room. “I’m going to have a shower,” I tell her. “I’ll take Lily off your hands and finish dinner when I come out.”

With no response, I head to the only sanctuary this place has to offer and succumb to thinking about the catalogue of problems I don’t have solutions for.

Coming back to Sydney, and more specifically home, wasn’t something I ever planned. It has been weeks of dredging up repressed memories, and reminding myself of all I left behind. It was also an unwelcome realisation that running away didn’t change the problem, and even though I was waking up in a new state, with a new life, my brother and my Dad were killing each other here in the pit of hell.

When Max finally managed to get a hold of me and beg me to come to Sydney, there were a million reasons as to why I wanted to say no. Firstly, I had no idea who she was, and secondly, I’m selfish enough to admit, I enjoyed my life away from here. For the first time, I was as happy as I could be, making myself a better person. A better Dad. A mixture of all the things Lily would one day be proud of.

Growing up here, wasn’t unique, and I wasn’t the only kid who lived through so much hatred and neglect. That’s probably the saddest part of my childhood, that I wasn’t the only person with one parent or a bruise on my cheek from my father’s fist that didn’t fade in time for school. I was a number, a statistic, another kid whose chances at a normal life were limited thanks to the shortcomings of their parents.

Life started off with a mum and a dad, but after getting beaten to a bloody pulp one too many times, she made the ultimate decision of life or death, and ran away. Do I blame her? No. Had I wished she’d taken me and my older brother Leroy with her? Every fucking day.

While I hated watching him doing that to her, I look back now and realise I was a few years too young to understand what both her staying and leaving meant for the rest of my time under that roof. Dad had never hit us, and I think when my mum made the decision to leave, she genuinely believed we’d be okay. But what none of us anticipated is my dad would just replace his old punching bag with some new ones. His children.

In an alternate universe, I could say I was mature enough to understand her reasons and actions of survival, but the child in me couldn’t help but resent her for leaving us with him. She could’ve come back. She should’ve come back, and maybe I wouldn’t have ended up treating everyone and everything around me like shit. And today my family wouldn’t have such a neglected, unloved, and unmemorable legacy.

From as early as I can remember Leroy and I had to earn our keep, but Dad’s only condition was it had to be in the family business, which was code for a life of dealing and wheeling. It was fun at first, my adolescent hormones enjoying the initial rush of doing something dangerous and forbidden. For the first time ever, living in the shittiest neighbourhood had perks. I had friends. Protection. A family.

It was everything I was looking for, and I spent more time on the streets and less time at home. But just like everything else in my life, there was an expiry date. A single moment where it all turned sour. Dad got in too deep, and anything positive that came out of what we were involved in, turned to shit. He took more drugs then he could afford, and he gambled enough that if it wasn’t for Leroy and I there would’ve been no roof over our heads, or food in our stomachs.

As he continued to fuck up, his moods were unpredictable, and his anger was at an all-time high. Eventually we began to hit him back, naively thinking that we could reverse the roles and he would be scared enough of us to retire. Permanently hang up his bruised fists and leave Leroy and me to do our own thing.

But as they say, misery loves company and he wasn’t ready to give up being the head of our house any time soon. Instead we became three grown men continuously trying to beat their demons out of one another. Within these four walls we were always bloodied, high or drunk, and to the outside world, we were unhinged, fearless, and indestructible.

Eventually, I didn’t like either version of myself; the reflection in the mirror beginning to look a lot like my father’s and I had needed to put a stop to it before I became unrecognisable.

The night I decided to leave, was the only time where the empathy for my mother far outweighed the hate. I channelled a make-believe connection between her and me and wished for her strength to guide me and get me the fuck away from my dad and Leroy.

So, when twenty-five-year old me narrowly escaped being beaten within in an inch of my life, for mistakes that weren’t mine, I made the split decision to run. With a cocktail of fury, defeat, and revenge swirling around in my blood, I took my swollen eyes, healing limbs, and broken past, and walked away from a family and a life that was only going to kill me.

Feeling slightly refreshed after the shower, I head back to Max and do as I promised. Passing Lily who is watching TV and fiddling with her snacks at her own table and chairs, I get a start on dinner. Like I’ve handed Max a relay baton, without a word she takes my presence as her cue to walk out of the kitchen and into her room.

When I left Sydney, Leroy was the only one I told. After the fact. He wasn’t pleased and didn’t understand, but I told him if he needed me for anything, he could call me. I gave him a number to a phone that I had no intention of ever using, and I set out to start my new life.

The one good thing about all the shady shit I did when I was younger, was I was able to save enough money that I didn’t need to stay on struggle street for too long.

Using the one skill I had, I used my brawn to get a job as a security guard at a strip club and made enough money to keep my head above water, and out of trouble.

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