Friday the thirteenth is the most common superstitious day out there. It is said that it’s a day full of bad luck and mishaps. I, myself don’t believe in the horrid day. Well, I didn’t until that one unforgettable night… Friday, October Thirteenth, 2006.
It was a perfectly normal day. I was at home with two of my brothers, Tommy & Steven same-old same-old. The only thing strange was that my Dad was with us at our house. My mom had married my step-dad just 6 days before, so they were on their honey-moon. My older brother Eric was at rehearsal so he was close by, just not at home.
My dad was making dinner, the smells of chicken and garlic wafting through our house. Tommy, being the picky eater, had finished his meal. Steven was on the floor, he has Cerebral Palsy which makes it so he can’t walk, he was crawling around furtively. I didn’t have much to do and was watching him to make sure he didn’t get stuck under our couch. I didn’t even notice my dad’s disappearance.
I walked into the kitchen after a while to see how dinner was going, my father wasn’t there. Panic was rushing through me and hit like the slam of thunder when I noticed the Vodka bottle was missing from the open counter next to the fridge. I didn’t think it’d be a problem but my dad has a dire drinking disorder.
I don’t know how long he was gone, but I put on a look of utter calmness to not give Steven a scare and marched back into the living room by him. Keeping the alarm off my face was next to impossible. I kept willing myself to stay glued to the couch and to pretend like nothing was wrong… what a complete and utter lie that was. And that was when I noticed it: my dad literally crawling up the stairs, the empty alcohol bottle in hand.
So my hunch was right. He had been drinking the entire time he claimed to be making dinner. I waited for what seemed like forever until he was in the kitchen and as quiet as a mouse, I ran downstairs. By the time I had reached Eric’s room tears were streaming from my panic-stricken eyes. I flew over to the phone and dialed my mom’s number as fast as my fingers would allow. She picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?” I heard her say.
Faintly through my sobs I replied, “Dad’s been drinking…”
After a second the situation clicked through my mom’s head talking a mile a minute she interrogated, “Is he threatening you? Did he do anything to you? Are you hurt?”
The thousand questions go on and on without a single answer. Finally she lets me reply.
“No.” I said meekly, “he hasn’t hurt me or the boys, but I’m scared.” I sounded like a kid afraid of the monsters in their closet.
Slowly, she sighed, “Run to the neighbors and tell their dad that you don’t feel safe and you want them there until Eric comes back home.”
Promising to call back later, I hung up the phone and ever so slightly snuck out of Eric’s room, up the stairs and out the front door. My bare feet pounded the asphalt that’s darkened by night’s curtain as I raced around the corner to our neighbors. I bolted through their door, not even realizing the tears still streaming from my eyes. They gave looks of confusion, so I started the story as to why I was there. I wasn’t even half way through and the phone rang.
It must be my dad, it must be my dad. That thought rushing through my head hundreds of times. What if he’s mad, what will happen when I get back? Will Tommy and Steven be alright?
“Yeah, Olivia’s here,” Informed Miranda’s dad.
My repetitive thoughts were right: it was my dad; he knows I’m here… I’m done for.
“We’ll have her home in no time, sorry for the scare,” her dad kept going.
Now, I’m furious. I scared him?! Look at what he did to me! I try so hard to hold back the anger rising through my throat. Her dad gets off the phone with mine and tries to calm me down. I ignore him, asking for the phone I call Eric.
There’s nothing. It goes straight to voicemail. Where is he? Why is his phone still off? He should be on his way home now. Another wave of panic shot straight through my body.
Barefoot, cold and shaking with fright, Miranda and her Dad walk me home. We’re standing in my drive way as I’m preparing to walk through my door. A beam of blinding light shoots through the darkness, headlights. Eric’s home. He pulls up, parks the car and gives a questioning look. I run to him, bawling my eyes out yet again. Déjà vu strikes; how many hundred times have a run into my big brother’s arms for protection?
“What’s wrong?” He starts.
“Dad’s drunk.” I can barely get the words to escape my lips.
He sighs, by now his girlfriend and good friend of mine Jess is at our side. I’m handed off into her hold as Eric walks over to get the story from Miranda’s dad.
We thank them and wish them good night. None of us know what to say to each other. I suggested we go inside, since Tommy and Steven were still in the house. I tried walking up the stairs to the kitchen, but Eric blocked my path instructing me to stay downstairs, away from our father.
Stifling my sobs I crept down the stairs still in Jess’ grasp. We sat on the couch and she let me cry for a while. Then we started talking about absolutely nothing to just get my mind off the previous events. After a while Eric announced that we may return upstairs. Ever so slightly I stood to make my way to the kitchen. It’s an absolute disaster.
There was food all over the floor; the oven was pretty much smoking… Dad tried to resume dinner when he could barely stand. I didn’t know what to do. Laugh, cry, yell, so I do absolutely nothing. I heard footsteps coming from down the hall, and in walked my dad. Fear shot through my body for the millionth time that night. I couldn’t tell what he was about to do, but it shocked me. He tried to finish making dinner, Eric & I forced him to bed and I got right on to cleaning. Eric put the boys to bed, the normal routine. Once they were safe and sound I let it all out. The fear, the worry, the relief, it all rushed through me at once. Exhaustion strikes and I almost fall asleep on the kitchen floor. Eric sends me to bed and I fall asleep almost immediately.
I wish I could give you a happy ending, something cheerful to change the mood. But all I can give you is a semi resolution. My father doesn’t remember this night: at all, though I remind him of it quite often. I still don’t forgive him for putting me through that situation though he has been sober for quite some time. He desperately tries to make it up to me; but frankly, it won’t work. I will not forgive him for events of that night, that one unforgettable date: Friday, October Thirteenth 2006.