Chasing Butterflies Read Online Free PDF Page B

norm for someone meeting me for the first time, but she asked about the dog tags around my neck.
    “Are you in the military or something?”
    “Or something.”
    There was no way I’d admit I would be in eleventh grade the coming year when she looked like she was in college. I wasn’t hard on the eyes, or so I’d been told, so my age might not have been a factor. In the short moments she’d talked, I learned she was visiting family in town, which explained why I’d never seen her before. We made plans, or rather I had plans to be inside her later on that day. My head was so far up the memories of her short skirt, I didn’t pay attention when I walked in the front door.
    “Where the hell have you been?”
    My head shot up, and I realized my mistake. I knew better than to enter the house at that time of day if Dad was home. I could already tell he was in that mean place, drunk but not quite enough for him to be passed out.
    “At work,” I said, knowing that nothing that came out of my mouth would be a good enough answer. However, experience had shown it would be better than no answer at all.
    “Working? You little shit. You probably had your head in pussy.”
    The best way to survive that encounter was to say nothing more unless he asked me another direct question. It was like a replay of a bad dream. I knew the script all too well.
    “You think you’re some Romeo. You better remember it’s my face you wear. Now go get me some beer money. I’m out.”
    I never forgot I was the spitting image of him. Sandy had taken after Mom, and God hated me. That’s why I looked like my father.
    “No.”
    The word came out softer than I meant it, but I’d said it. I’d earned that money for Mom, not for Dad to waste on getting drunk.
    “What did you say, you little fuck?”
    Dad jumped to his feet from his chair. By that point, we were about the same height and his eyes narrowed as he stalked closer. He staggered some, causing me to stand a little straighter with the knowledge that I might have a shot.
    He jabbed a finger in my face. “I said give me some goddamn money for beer, you little shit.”
    “No.”
    The air left my lungs after I dodged a right cross to the jaw and my punch caught him in the side. Only I missed his gut punch. I bent forward and had my light snuffed with an uppercut to the face. I went down before I could take a swing. Only, he wasn’t done. A solid kick to my stomach and parting words to Get the fuck up , was how he finalized my humiliation. In that moment, I thought of a hundred different ways to kill my father. Slowly, I rolled to my side, not wanting to be kicked again. It took several tries before I found my feet and braced myself against the wall. Jail was the only thing that stopped me from acting on the many ways he could die that played out in my head.
    Sandy. I missed my brother with a soul aching pain that mirrored the physical one Dad left me with. I wiped at the tears that burned to unleash from my eyes. I wasn’t a pussy even though I felt like one. Why couldn’t I be bigger, strong, more intimidating so Dad wouldn’t use me for a punching bag. One day, I would make it out of the hell hole and take Mom with me.
    Somehow, I managed not to slam my bedroom door as I tossed myself on my bed. I lay there a few seconds before I could totally reclaim my breath. Then I stayed longer, adding up all the things I needed to make a break for it.
    There was only one thing on the list— money .
    According to the bills Dad often left around for Mom to find and pay, I needed much more than I had to make it on my own.
    A short time later, I heard Dad banging around in the kitchen in search for alcohol Mom might have hidden. It wouldn’t be long before he came looking for me again. I managed to roll off the bed without hurting too much. Then I lifted the mattress and found my duck-tapped baggy filled with my earnings still there. I let the bed back down and straightened the sheets so Dad