COMINGS AND GOINGS

They were accustomed to his comings and goings. His abrupt and irregular, appearances and disappearances. He would be here for hours going on days, then take flight for weeks going on months. Thomas had observed enough to know that he only came back when his deals had gone up in smoke. Such was his nature.

He was peculiar to say the least and his tidings even more so. Thomas always wondered what sort of human being would entrust his saving or any amount of money or valuables to his father. But many men did, learning bitter lessons from the mistake. More often than was necessary men came to claim their dues. Thomas hoped that this was not the case again. Their visits preceded by his father’s depressed nature. He didn’t trust him, not even as far as he could throw him. That said a lot coming from a seven year old.

The battered and bruised old man had staggered in to the living room. He was tittering on the balls of his heels, the aftermath of another beating. He had more than likely taken off again before paying up.  

‘Hey, old boy, still holding up,’ he mumbled rather than spoke.

Stumbling over to the dining table, he fell heavily into a seat and gazed in to the distance. Thomas noted that his split lip was still bleeding and the blue shirt was dirtied and blood-stained. Thomas knew all too well what would come next. The hulking knock on the door. The brutal beating and excess violence. The script had lost its allure. The boy backed up to the wall drifting to his happy place. He hated his father’s ‘visitors’ as much as he did his father’s visits. All he wanted to do was to shut him out.

‘I am sorry, old boy but this time, I did it. I really did it,’ he said dreamily. ‘I am sorry that it has come to this.’

‘Momma asked to stop, you said you would, Pa, you said that it was the end. Why?’ the seven-year old moaned.

‘I am sorry, I know I  promised but this is different……’

‘You always say it is different Pa, you always say that. Why don’t you just stay away?’ Thomas shouted, his voice rising with every word. ‘ I hate you Pa, I hate you!’

Peter was so stunned by the words that he fell silent. He had never quite understood how much hurt he had caused the family till this moment. The countless times that his wife had tried to get him to understand that had never sunk in. Thomas made him feel it, and his words brought tears to his eyes.  He bit his lower lip and shut his eyes. Regret.

His heart ached as he remembered all the many times he had late down the boy. Thomas had looked up to him like any little boy would look up to a father. But promise after promise being broken. Lie after lie being told. Hurt after hurt inflicted. His mother hoped that they would leave soon. Save the boy before the grief tore him up or the hate consumed him. Peter had delved in his bubble too long to notice the boy’s pain. He was too busy being slick and sly. Now his sins were back to haunt him.

There was a time when all his scheming paid off. Everyone of them had been good. He gave his family the life he thought the deserved. That was at a time when all that mattered was the rush. He played fast and loose with everyone and that was exciting. It didn’t matter how many times his wife asked him stop, he always needed one more score. The fire that drove him to the brink of detraction. Now he was stuck, always wanting more but never getting enough.

 Peter was only jerked back to reality by the sound of crunching gravel as a car pulled in to the drive way. He stood up and braced his hand on the table, the pain in his rib taunted him. He stole a glance at the little boy, and felt the guilt suffocate him. He heard the steps on the porch and shifted his gaze to the door. Perhaps it was his wife, or the debt collectors, he hoped it could be the former.

Elizabeth was halfway in when she saw him and froze in her tracks

‘You good for nothing on of a…..’ she started to seethe

‘I can explain, jut listen to me for a minute, I swear. This time was different …’

‘Tell it to the choir, I don’t care. I want you out of my life, I want you gone, you and all you troubles,’ her voice was a steady rising crescendo. ‘We are tired of you, your lies, your cheating and stealing. I can’t expose Thomas to anymore of your troubles.’

‘I am sorry, I mean it this time it’s over, I ……’

Elizabeth raised her hand to silence him. She wanted to scream but she also wanted to keep her cool. Her chest was heaving, as she shut her eyes and tried to clear her mind. She wondered why he didn’t just stay away. Why the collectors didn’t just kill him? Why he didn’t kill himself. She wanted him gone, gone and gone for good.

‘Leave, please, leave now and never come back,’ she spoke finally and evenly, her eyes were still shut. A silence hung between them for a long strained moment. Peter wanted to argue, but he knew her well enough to know when to give in. He looked at her and placed his hand on the table.

‘Pa, leave please, you need to leave,’ Thomas whimpered.

Peter felt the frustration build in him. He opened his mouth to speak then shut it. He did it again then shut it. His eyes shifted from mother to child then back to mother. He  bit his lower lip. Peter shook his head and started to walk to the door. Elizabeth stepped aside, Thomas kept his face buried between his knees and rocked gently. Peter was at the door, took a last glance at the two, smirked then turned to step out, though he never did.

He was sent stumbling backwards by blow, then two ghouls walked in. The collectors. Elizabeth shrieked and rushed to her son, maternal instinct had taken over. Peter looked up to see one assailant raise his boot. He shut his eyes, held his breath and braced for the blow. The boy was screaming.

‘Nooo!!!!’ His wife screamed….

The pain hit him hard as the collectors boot made contact three times. Once with his head, twice with his shoulder then at last with ribs, reigniting the flurry of pain. Peter was in the foetal position, covering his head. Elizabeth shielded Thomas from the brutality that went on at the door.

‘Go, get him and go. Don’t do that here. No in front of the boy.’ Elizabeth pleaded.

The two men towered over Peter but stopped the pummelling him. They studied the two by-standers. One of them lifted Peter, apologised to his wife before they bundled him out of the house. Elizabeth watched them go and noted that that might be the last time she would see him alive. This she hoped both fervently. Thomas had his face buried in her bossom.

‘Is this the end of it?’ he asked

Perhaps, just perhaps, this might be the end of his comings and goings