Heaven Help Us

He walks around the table and touches my mother's shoulder. My mother brushes him off angrily and leaves the room.
Mother has been upset ever since finding out where father works. I was upset too, although I had to support him, because he told me first, explained himself to me. It's not as bad as what mother does.
Mother kills people for a living. I've seen it happen, it happens in our house. Father is always upset with the bloodstains on the rug, but he cleans them out and leaves it alone.
They are not meant for each other, that much is obvious. A love that flared up and they got hitched on a whim, not paying attention to much of anything or anyone. When mother got pregnant Father didn't believe it. It was impossible, it couldn't happen. But it did and I came along, and I united them.
Mother leaves the room, to prepare for tonight's killing. Father takes the vacated seat and covers his eyes, his mouth visible, red shiny lips, with the little hole on the side where the ring used to be.
There's a hole in his nose, too.
Mother emerges from the bedroom, dressed in black; black T-shirt, black jacket, fingerless gloves, and tight black pants, usually worn when used as a rebellion agains Father. Messy, dyedblack hair frames the ever-pale face, the permanently furrowed brow, causing the shadows to conceal the hazel-green eyes that can make father so happy. That can make father cry.
I begin to wish I was back in my room with my posters and my music surrounding me in a safety that seems to have abandoned me at the moment.
Mother unwraps a piece of gum.
"Where are you going tonight?" asks father softly. It is obvious he is fighting to control himself.
"Doesn't matter." replys mother, lips barely parting on the right side. The gum slides past the pale lips and is crushed with a 'chunk'.
I duck my head and shovel potatoes into my mouth, hoping to leave before they start fighting again.
"Just as long as I don't visit any strip clubs, right? Someone I know might be working there."
Father stands up and his chair falls over. Mother gives him a threatening look, but he marches up and stares up into the dark face, the anger that has been concealed for so long is finally coming out.
I had hoped to avoid being in the room when it happened, so I leave the table and climb the stairs to my room.
I turn the music up as loud as it can go without disturbing the fight downstairs and close my eyes.
Heaven help us now
come crashing down
and hear the sound
as you fall...
One of them will die tonight. I know it, I just don't want to think about it right now.
Hours later, my door opens and I pause 'I'm Not Okay', which has been on repeat for the last hour. i'm not really listening anyway.
"Hey, Jack, how're you doing?" there is blood evident on his shirt, even if it is black. Maybe he knew this was going to happen. Maybe not.
"Hey, where's dad?"
My mother sucks his lip under and then licks it.
"I took care of Frank. He's not down there any more."
I look around my room. I know what this means.
"You need to pack, we're leaving tonight." says Gerard taking hold of the doorknob and swinging it in and out a few times.
"Yeah." I reply in a low voice.
"Jackie." Gerard comes in and sits on the bed. I lean into him and he wraps me in an embrace. His embrace. Safety. I never wondered why my father loved him so much. I always knew. Tears come to my eyes and I bury my face in his shoulder, hoping to conceal the shakes that want so desperately to take over me.
"It's okay to cry, Jackie."
"No, it's not. Girls cry." I say, my voice breaking free and taking on the femenine tone I hate so much. I cough and sob again.
"Boys can cry too, Jackie."
He's crying now. I don't look at him but I can hear it in his voice.
What am I, Gerard? What are you?
"I'm not a boy!" I choke and pull away. He looks sadly at me and I can see he was expecting this too. Sometimes I've wondered if he can see the future.
Did he see this coming? Did he see the child in the girl pants and the boy's shirts, trying to find somewhere it belonged?
I glare at him, and then begin to strip out of my shirt. He looks away and I scream at him, I yell and I swear. What is to become of the child who can't use public restrooms becuase, by golly she isn't a girl and he isn't a boy? Howdoes this creature ever expect to find it's way through this world when it knows that it will always be the exception? How the hell does it know?
Tears run from my mother's eyes onto the bed. Lower lip bitten until it bleeds. Mother covers his eyes and sobs.
"I'm sorry Jackie, I'm so sorry." He stands up and puts his open hand through my wall, through the chest of the subject of one of my posters. His chest.
As if on signal, we both run around the room, ripping down poster after poster, tearing them to shreds, throwing CDs out of their cases, breaking them, stomping on them, until there is nothing left.
He is out of breath, his ever-perfect pale face is flushed. No, I never doubted that my father loved him. Never.
He crosses the room and puts his arms around me again.
"We need to leave now, Jackie."
Yes, we do, but I don't want to move. He releases me and exits. I have to pack.