The Perfect Holiday

“You…” That’s all he said. You…

I stopped a few feet from him. I could feel the heat of his anger washing over my face like a harsh wind blowing through a bonfire. I stuck out my chin and closed my eyes. It was the first time I had ever welcomed a beating from him. I wanted him to hit me. I wanted him to beat me to a pulp. I wanted to feel the pain of his fists on my face and his boot in my ribs. I held my breath and waited.

Then… nothing.

I slowly opened my eyes and stared at him. He was still there, eyes red, nostrils flaring, fists balled, the veins at his temples throbbing.

“Well?” I asked.

“You…” he said again. “You killed my boy…”

I frowned at him. I glanced down at my mother, who had buried her face in the kerchief. She was rocking back and forth like an autistic child.

“Yes,” I said, my eyes locking with his. “I killed Kenny.”

“You…” His eyes overflowed with tears and he shook his head. “Goddamn you…”

“Yes, goddamn me,” I said quietly. “Now, hit me.”

His forehead cut into deep lines. He frowned at me from beneath his bushy eyebrows. His fists stayed at his side. Tears ran down his cheeks. Snot streamed from his nose and over his lip. He growled at me. “What did you say?”

“I said hit me, you son of a bitch. Hit me like you always do.”

I had never seen my father look confused before. He blinked quickly and shook his head. “You just need to go. Don’t come home. Don’t ever come home again.”

I was stunned more by his words than I had ever been by his fists. He put a hand on my mother’s shoulder. I had never seen him touch her out of affection, only out of anger and violence.

I don’t know why I didn’t just walk away. Kenny was dead. I didn’t love my parents and they didn’t love me. The only thing bonding us together was gone. It would have been so easy to just sever the tie and leave.

But I didn’t.

I wanted him to hit me.

I wanted him to beat me senseless like he had done so many times before.

His unwillingness to take his anger out on me was unacceptable.

I had gone from punching bag to nothing.

I wasn’t even worth the effort of his beatings anymore.

I was nothing more than a bad smell that he thought he could wave away.

No.

No, goddamit, he was not going to get the satisfaction of sending me away, not without something to remember me by.

I slowly took my hands out of my pockets and pushed him.

Hard.

I’ll never forget the look of shock in his eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing, boy— “

I hit him just once.

In the nose.