He hated this, grabbed me by the shoulders with his stiff hands, and pushed me out of the house, crashing the door shut and locking it behind me. Earlier that sweltering, humid Sunday, on the twenty-second of July in 2018, I traveled from my mother’s house to my dad’s house. Exchanging at five o’ clock was part of the shared parenting agreement. It had been a scalding summer so far, and the only activity I had going on was volleyball. When I arrived to my father’s, my friends asked me if I wanted to go see a scary movie with them. These friends included my best friend whom I thought of as a brother, Eli, and Ellie. 

As I traveled downstairs to ask my father if I could go, he responded and sprung upon me, “I had just invited Kyle over for supper.” Kyle had been my boyfriend of nine months. He was two grades above me and went to my school. When I heard that he had been invited over, I became thrown off, wondering why my dad would do that without my knowledge. I questioned what to do because Kyle did not get along with Eli, for Kyle was jealous and thought Eli had other intentions. Since I did not invite Kyle over and I knew he was close with my family, I picked up my smooth phone, called him, and told him that if he wanted to come over he could, but I planned with my friends to see a movie. He decided to still come over while I went out, so I left with my friends as they pulled up in their cherry red Cruise.

As I was out and about with my friends, the night increasingly became strange. Kyle crept past us in his silver car twice. It didn’t seem like much of a coincidence because I knew that Kyle was overly jealous, but we continued on anyways.

 After the movie, Ellie’s inexpensive shoe broke, so we  decided to go to Walmart to buy a cheap pair of flip-flops. Again, Kyle was somehow at Walmart, stalking in behind us when I had not told him my location. Surprised, I whipped around and asked, “What are you doing here?” Bickering, Kyle and his twin brother turned around and left while we continued to send harsh texts to each other. Getting frustrated and slamming my phone down, Kyle and I proceeded to fight. I disapproved of the way he was acting, I despised it. While in Walmart with my friends, I forgot to check the time. When I looked at my phone, a suffocating lump grew in my throat as I realized it was 10:30, the time I needed to be home by.

My friends rushed me home as quickly as they could. I texted my dad. “I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed. “I’m on my way home!” With hands that felt like blocks of ice, I opened the burgundy door with its golden knob and stepped in. My first sight as soon as I walked in the door was my father, waiting for me with a beer in his hand, resting in the hazelnut recliner. The house was too quiet for my liking. None of my family was nowhere to be seen. The room sounded so silent that I could hear the crickets chirping outside. That night I had relentlessly tried to explain how my lateness was a pure accident; however, my father didn’t want to hear it at all. It was normal for him to call me downstairs and to sit and yell at me the rest of the night, nor did it shocked me when his harsh words and accusations came my way. This was just how it was between us, and it was awful. He and I had always maintained a poor relationship. My name left a bitter taste in the mouths of my family at my father’s house, and I was sent away for Father's Day because, “It’d be too awkward if you were there.” As I was sitting there with tears streaming down my face from trying to defend my character, the night had somehow shifted from my lateness, to how horrible of a daughter I was. The living room consisted of endless shouts of degrading comments to me and sneer remarks of his divorced wife that I too much resembled, my mother.

In one moment, my father asked me to give him my cell phone. The night had already been a disaster, and I knew my response was only going to make it worse. Flustered with my heart beat increasing and sticky sweat developing on my brow, I responded, “I’m sorry, but no.” I said no because my mother pays for my phone, as well as anything else I own. My dad didn’t contribute at all, so I felt it wasn’t right giving my father something that he had no control over and wasn’t his. I also kept my phone because my father is an alcoholic who sleeps in until three in the afternoon. I had volleyball the next morning, did not own an alarm clock, and knew my dad would not be able to wake me up, so I said no for the sake of my arrival to the sport I prioritize. 

Rejecting my phone to my father had caused him to blow up. At almost midnight, he jumped up from his chair and shouted, “Get out. Call your mom to come get you, and get out of my house!” Mind racing, the only logical idea that came into my head was to ask for my volleyball bag up in my room. Because my father failed to provide for me, I carried clothes, volleyball equipment, personal belongings, and everything I needed in that bag. He refused while the words, “I don’t care!” rang in my ear. I still did not know what to do, so I asked again. He hated this, grabbed me by the shoulders with his stiff hands, and pushed me out of the house, crashing the door shut and locking it behind me.

 Hysterical, I called my mother crying and asked her to come get me. I was so worked up that I felt as if the air was sucked out of my lungs and proceeded to hyperventilate on the phone. My father became angry at this, so he came outside and made me stand on the hot road. My mother pulled up in her emerald car then drove away to call the police to see if there was any way I could get my needed possessions back. I felt so overwhelmed that I stumbled out of the car to throw up in the wet grass on the side of the road. The taste of hot vomit and salty tears mixed in my mouth. The cops asked my dad if I could have my belongings back, but he did nothing but yell at them. Because no illegal action had occurred, my father was allowed to keep my bag, causing my mother to have to go out and buy me new equipment and personal items.

To this day my father does not speak to me. I am currently going through the court process of the situation. My father has since then twisted the story to both his side of the family and the court. He has made me out to be disrespectful and blasphemous teenager who screamed profanity outside the door instead of crying and has put me to blame. My family has dropped communications with me as well. As much as it hurts, I at least know that I am with a true family that honestly loves me now. My emotions are continuously at battle with my father, more recently nothing but negativity, but I’m realizing that this situation may have been for the better. The night could have gone worse, and I’m grateful that I am in a better environment. I have still been teaching myself peace with the situation and how to not let it affect me, although it has turned a part of me a little cold.