Page 20 of The Downside of Love
We sleep with it in our minds.
We practically shit out the Air Force; that’s how infused it is into our souls.
But not me. I’m not going to be an airman.
Fuck no.
I have other plans and they don’t involve staying in Colorado Springs for four years at the Academy, being a puppet for my father, making sure I hit every single one of his marks.
No way in hell.
Instead I’m going to . . .
I’m going to join the Army. I’ll enlist right off the bat, not even apply to West Point. That way I can really piss the dickhead off, never giving myself a chance to be an officer.
Oh wait, no, I have a better idea.
I’ll enlist in the Navy.
Talk about chapping the old man’s ass. Oh fuck, I can see the look on his face now.
I could get one of those cheap-assTop Guncostumes and give him my best Maverick impression while telling him I’m joining the Navy.
The fucker would croak over.
I chuckle to myself, loving my plan just as my dad steps up in front of me, humor nowhere to be found in his expression. Instead, a dark mask of irritation covers his face as he speaks. “Get the fuck upstairs and change. Blue suit, white shirt, black tie. Fix your goddamn hair, and be down in five minutes.”
“And if I don’t?” I ask, puffing my chest out like a punk, challenging my father, matching him in height. I was an early bloomer.
“Then you can forget about the Jeep that’s in the garage waiting for you to obtain your license.”
Fuck.
He knows how to get to me.
My freedom is sitting in the garage, waiting for me to take it out for a spin. What I wouldn’t give to ride around in the Wrangler, top down, the wind blowing past me, feeling the fresh air surrounding me. I dream about it. It’s what helps me get through the suffocating moments in this household.
“Is Mom coming to the meeting?” I ask, wanting to see what he has to say.
Straightening up, he adjusts his suit. “She’s not feeling well. It’s just you and me. Now hurry the fuck up.”
Not feeling well . . . Code for: “I caught my husband cheating on me again, and I’m in a fit of depression from it.”
He’s such a bastard. The worst kind of man.
Someone I will never end up like.
The apple will fall extremely far from the tree where I’m concerned.
Not wanting to get into it because I can imagine more and more privileges taken away from me, I turn away and head to my room, taking the steps two at a time. When I reach my bedroom, I slam the door like the teenager I am and start rummaging through my closet for my navy blue suit.
It’s easy to find, because the stupid closet is organized, thanks to my father being a dictator, needing everything the way he likes it. Scratch that, needing everything the way the Air Force requires.
Fucking Air Force.
Shaking my head, I quickly change, knot up my tie, and go to the bathroom where I slick back my hair. It’s too long for my dad’s liking, but I refuse to get it cut. I’m surprised he hasn’t taken a razor to it himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he did that. Then again, I’m older now, stronger. He doesn’t challenge me as much physically anymore, but the verbal attacks keep coming.
I can take his wicked tongue; his lashings just go in one ear and out the other. It’s when he takes away my freedom—my escape from him—that’s when he hits me hardest. And there’s a party I want to go to this weekend that I know he’ll take away from me if I don’t show up to this meeting like the perfect little cadet he has “trained” me to be.
