Sandra

1989

Dear Daddy,

Happy Father’s Day! My teacher told me not to forget to make you a card cause this is a special day for you. I’m so glad that you’re my daddy. I love it when we play games and you push me on the tire swing in our back yard. It’s weird not having mommy around anymore but I’m glad you didn’t leave too. Maybe tonight we can jump on the trampoline together! I love you!

Love,
Sandra

***

1997

Something had happened. She had done something to make him so upset. But what was it? Lately so many different things made him mad. He bed was made, the laundry was done, she’d even made sure his shirts were hung up in the high closet. Her teeth were brushed, dinner was made; maybe that was it. She made macaroni again, that was twice in one week. But she only knew how to make a couple different meals…whatever it was that set him off, it had done a good job.

Sandra Michaels tugged at the ends of her long brown hair. This would not be a good night. At 13 she’s learned early to make sure she remembered to get all the housework done before her dad got home; the consequences of forgetting were never worth it.

Once she stayed up late to study and fell asleep after school the next day before putting all the laundry away. She ended up skipping the next three days of school until her black eye had faded enough to be hidden with makeup. That was an extreme, he hardly ever touched her face, most of her bruises were on her back and stomach; they were easily covered.

Sandra scanned the room one more time for anything out of place. The mail was in its slot, the garbage was empty, the dishwasher was loaded. Nothing was wrong. But something was definitely wrong. Even from the other side of the house she could hear his muffled grumbles.

Without seeing him, Sandra knew what her father would look like. She imagined his leathery face, cracked and darkened from working in the son for so many years. Tonight it would hold an all too familiar grimace, his furrowed eyebrows half covered by his brown curls.

“Sandra! Get down here!” She cringed at the sound of her name booming through the house. A surge of panic filled her as she heard his belt snap from around his waist. There was no use hiding, it would only make the beating last longer once he found her. She could smell the alcohol on his clothes as she drew closer. It was always worse when he was drunk…her bruises from her last encounter with his belt were still a greenish-yellow. His dark eyes found her as she turned the corner into his living room. Her throat suddenly felt tight.

Don’t ask question. Just obey. Stand still. Don’t ask questions. It’ll all be over soon. Don’t make a sound. Sandra’s legs trembled as her traitorous lips uttered a small cry. She heard the slap of leather striking skin before she felt the searing pain spread across her arm. Another cry escaped her lips, louder this time. Just stay still. Just stay still. A crack across her back interrupted her thoughts. Her head started to spin, searching for the inviting blackness that so often came at times like this. Blood dripped from a gash in her arm and ran down her elbow staining the carpet. Another strike. How many? She had lost count.

She could hear him shouting above her, screaming at her to get up. She told her legs to move, told her arms to lift herself up, but her stubborn muscles refused to obey. They were rewarded with another strike. Blackness overtook her.

***

2008

Charles,

My therapist thought it would be good for me to write you a letter; so here it goes. I hate you. There isn’t any other way I can say it. You were a horrible father; no wonder mom left you. I can’t believe the things you did to me. And all I did was try. I tried so hard to make you happy. I did everything I could to make things better. I know mom’s leaving tore you apart but you didn’t have to take it out on me. I’m lucky to even be alive. How could you do that to your daughter? I always thought you had a good reason, that there was something in you that told you it was ok. But I have my own daughter now, yeah that’s right, you’re a grandpa. But you’ll never see her. You’ll never touch her. I can’t imagine doing anything to her that you did to me. How could you? What kind of a man are you? You’re not a man at all.

This is it. I’ll never contact you again. I’m not sorry for being harsh. I said what I needed to say.

-Sandra

Oh yeah, happy fathers day.