Honesty
by Andrea Combs
The rain is pounding the windshield as the wipers work overtime
On our old, hand me down, blue, beat up pinto.
Mom pulls into the uneven, muddy graveled driveway.
I hop out of the front seat and splash into the rising mud holes
In my brand new school shoes.
Daddy steps out onto the leaf covered porch and says
“ Where have you been?”
I answer, “ Mommy took me to the store” and held up my purple sucker.
He called her a liar and locked me out of the house.
I heard his violent screams over the roaring thunder.
I peeked through the torn screen window.
My favorite blue glass elephant, a Christmas gift from Papaw
Shattered on the shiny, checkered linoleum floor.
He took my honesty and twisted it
Into something foreign and obscene.
Eighteen years later, the rain is pounding the windows
As I sit in this dark, cold hospital room with my Dad.
I can still smell the alcohol from his favorite black T-shirt on me.
I watch for his every breath, hoping it will come.
Tears roll down my cheek as I whisper a prayer out loud.
He tightens his grip on my tiny little hand
I move closer so I can hear his weakened voice.
“ Why didn’t you just leave me there to die?”
In that moment, I felt eight years old all over again.
“ I love you Daddy and you can’t leave, NOT NOW.
You have so many things to be here for and live for,
So many wrongs that we have to make right this time.”
One month later, he locked me out and overdosed.
He took my honesty and twisted it
Into something foreign and obscene.
