Neon Angel: A Memoir of a Runaway Read Online Free PDF Page B

Kitten.” His voice got harder and dripped with resentment when he said the next part: “I don’t want to talk bad against your mother, Kitten . . . But I guess now she’s got what she wanted all along.”
     
    I opened my mouth, and then closed it again. I realized that there was nothing to say to my father anymore. We were finally beyond words. He’d come to collect his belongings, and now he was going to leave and move to Texas, and there was nothing in the world I could do about it. He knew that when he showed up today with those empty suitcases. The divorce was going through, there was no turning back. Sure, it would be months before all of the paperwork was figured out, but for all intents and purposes, when my father walked out of the house today with his suitcases full of clothes, leaving nothing but an empty closet and some water stains to remind us that he was ever there, the divorce would be final. Inside I was screaming. I could feel the tears welling up inside of me, but somehow they would not come out of my eyes.
     
    “It’s not the end of the world, Kitten,” he said weakly. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to scream that it was WORSE than the end of the world. Much worse. If the world ended right now, I would be fine with it. One huge BOOM and it’s all over. But this? This is going to hurt for the rest of our lives!
     
    My father continued packing, unsure and unsteady. Opening drawers then closing them absently without taking anything out. “Kitten,” he said meekly, “please go play . . .” I silently turned, and walked out of the room in shock. In the bedroom, Marie was watching the TV with the sound turned down. I knew that she heard every word my father and I had said. Her face was glacial, blank.
     
    “Stupid Texas!” she said finally, her voice wobbling. “This whole thing stinks! Divorce shouldn’t be allowed!” Then she got up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
     
    I walked slowly over to the window. The sky was still perfect; it was another beautiful sunny day in Southern California. You stop noticing the weather after a while. Even perfection can become routine. Today it should have been snowing. Or raining. There should have been lightning, and the rumble of thunder, or hailstones the size of golf balls battering against the glass. But there was none of that. There was just the sunlight, and that terrible, endless sky.
     
    In half an hour, my father was gone. Even Donnie knew now, although he probably didn’t grasp the enormity of what was going on. My father hugged us all at once, and we cried together. When my father held me close, I could smell his aftershave, and could feel wetness on his cheeks. The only other time I’d seen tears in Daddy’s eyes was when I was four years old, the day Grandpa died. He tried to say good-bye now, but it came out as a choking sob. We held on to him, trying to keep him from leaving. We held on for dear life. He dragged us to the door, having to pry our hands from him, tears in his eyes. Eventually he had to call our mom and say, “Marie, can you help me, please?” We clung to him, screaming, and crying, and pleading with Daddy not to go. Mom came over and started pulling our hands off him. He gave us one last long, tearful look and then disappeared. The screen door closed behind him, with a terrible, final bang.
     
    As I turned away from the door, I noticed a space on the wall where a picture used to be. A picture of all four of us kids. Besides the clothes, that was the only other thing he took with him. I realized just how wrong Marie really was. He only took his clothes, not because he was coming back, but because he wanted to leave everything exactly as it was for us. He didn’t want anything to be missing from our lives. Nothing, that is, but him.
     
    That night I lay in bed, the tears frozen on my cheeks, with my headphones on, listening to my music. The guitars swirled and cascaded in my head. I