Page 4 of The Moments You Miss
“Oh, it’s cool. So, how long have you been in the group?” I ask, trying to make small talk.
I notice it then, the tension in the air; only it’s not angry or actually tense? I can’t seem to put my finger on it. It seems to be a charged feeling between us as we talk. As though each word, while intentional and awkward, is heavy and fateful. It’s clear that he feels it too, at least I think since he’s watching me so closely and his eyes so wide. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
“Sorry, I- sorry...” he stammers out, as I look at him with gentle eyes.
“You really don’t have to keep apologizing, we can just talk? I promise I don’t bite.” The rest of our conversation goes on without a hitch after that. He is actually pretty funny and seems super nice; maybe making friends isn’t the worst thing that could happen to me.
The two of us talk for a while before there is a car honking nearby and his face goes two shades paler than I’d ever seen.
“Oh-Oh. Well, that’s my ride— I’ll see you next week?”
“Yea, see you next week. Save me a spot.”
Maybe talking to Cameron isn’t such a bad thing. My therapist told me I need to “expand my surroundings”. So that’s what I’m doing. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself as I watch him hurry across the grass toward the waiting car.
Why are my cheeks hurting?
Chapter 3
Hey You
Cameron 18 / Leyla 16 – 6 years ago
Cameron
My dad screams at me; the painful words never get easier. He’s starting to lose his memories more and more every single day, but it doesn’t mean he’s changed. My fucking black eye is a stark reminder that I’ll never be good enough for my dad, and that he will constantly get away with every fucking thing he’s ever done because of who he is.
I stare at him while he sits in that stupid recliner with a toothpick in his mouth, watching his shows. I know now that it’s notallhis fault that he’s like this, but I’m only eighteen. It’s not like Ihaveto be here, but I feel as though I owe it to him to take care of him; I suppose that’s what even the loosest sense of family does to you. At least I did until he started talking nonsense. Plus, with me going off to college soon, it’s better if I get dad the help he needs. One less thing to weigh on my conscience.
“Dad– Hey, Dad–” I try to keep my voice lower, not wanting to agitate him any further. He looks at me confused, as if he’s trying to make sense of who I am.
“Dad, it’s me. Cameron… let’s get you dressed to go to the doctor’s, okay?” My voice is deceptively soft as he furrows his brows, the anger closing in on me as I take a step back.
“Cameron…” he echoes. For a moment, I think he’s with me. But then his eyes grow hazy and distant. “Cameron, that boy… He’s my piece of shit son, do you know where he is?”
Okay, he’s clearly not fully with it today. I’ve learned that when he’s like this, to just play it off as though I’m someone else. It’s easier on him, and less of a chance for him to beat the shit out of me.
“I’m sure he’s gonna come by later. Let’s get this jacket on you so we can get you to the doctor, okay?”
Dad scans my face, trying to figure out if he can trust me or not, but relents when I start putting the jacket on him. Little does he know, he won’t be coming back to this house ever again. I wish I had it in me to be upset over this, but I know deep down, taking my dad to a memory assisted-living place will be the best thing for him.
He mutters that he‘needs to take a wiz before we get going’and shuffles off to the bathroom. Knowing that it’s going to take a few minutes for him to get in the car, I pull out my phone and call Leyla, who’s probably just getting out of school for the day.
“Hey, you.” My voice is deceptively calm, but we’ve been hanging out every so often for the past couple of years. She’s been the one who can always calm me down, who can make things not seem as shitty.
“Cameron?” Leyla’s sweet voice floats through my phone speaker, my eyes narrowing at the bathroom door. I can feel myself holding my breath to listen closer to the sounds of him being done in there, even though I don’t mean to. Habits die hard when they are built for survival.
“You okay, Cammy?” Leyla asks when I take too long to reply.
“I’m– I’m uh, taking my dad to assisted living today and I just needed to hear your voice,” I admit, my hand runs through my definitely too long hair.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Even though it’s just mere words that anyone could say, Leyla’s voice settles through me like a balm to an open wound that won’t stop bleeding. “I know you two don’t have the best relationship, but like, I know this is what’s probably best for him.”
I let out an emotionless laugh, one that just falls flat. But, Leyla can tell because she knows me. “I’m not upset over it.” My voice cracks, I clear the lump in my throat reclaiming my confidence. “Does that make me a terrible person?” I don’t waver, as I speak now. “I’m fucking eighteen years old, and the man’s been nothing but cruel to me my entire life. I take care of him, even though he’s so angry all the time and I just–” I clear my throat to conceal an unfamiliar emotion that clogs my throat. “I know that it’s not his fault…”
Leyla cuts me off, “Cameron, you don’t owe him anything anymore. You’re doing something that will help him in the long run, and make your life easier.” I can hear people in the background, even someone calling her name.
“Shit, you’re busy. Sorry, I should have checked first before just slamming you with all of that.” My guilt bubbles up, but Leyladoesn’t let it simmer for any longer than it has to. She’s always so in tune with me, she sees me without even being with me.
