Oh no. Oh NO!
“She. She isn’t mine is she Lisa? You and Cal didn’t…” I say, feeling like I’m about to throw up. That son of a bitch. That son of a bitch! She stands up and turns away from me.
“Lisa, tell me. Say something now,” I say, my own voice shaking. She turns back around, her lips quivering and her hands shaking.
“She’s not your daughter. She’s your sister.”
When my mom told me she had cancer everything changed. Everything seemed sharper, faster, so fast that nothing really mattered. It all blurred together as time sped up. My world shifted off its axis, my life couldn’t be the same.
When Lisa said those words the exact opposite happened. For a moment everything around me froze, time moved in slow motion, at a glacial pace. I can only describe it as when you get really drunk and you move around lazily, everything’s foggy. Your mind is like a swamp, your thoughts float around, and everything is sticky. Not sticky, muddy, muddy is the word I’m looking for. When what you hear is so far-fetched, so catastrophically bad that you brain doesn’t compute it. It can’t compute it. It’s so ridiculous your thoughts won’t process it.
Like a glitch.
I don’t know how long Lisa’s been standing in front of me but I know she could not have just said what I think she just said. It’s impossible, I can’t even respond to it, because if I responded I’d be just as ridiculous as she is. I don’t even think I’m here right now. I’m in a nightmare, a constructed dream. Cal is fucking with me. This is all an illusion so he can break me down, mentally fuck me so bad that I can’t come back from it, but I know this isn’t real. My best friend isn’t standing in front of me, with a kid I just met in the other room, telling me she’s my sister.
It’s implausible, because in order for that to be true that would mean she would have had to screw my dad. My father, who would never do anything as disgusting as sleep with my best friend.
He wouldn’t betray my mother like that. Because if he slept with my best friend that would make him… a hypocrite, a filthy piece of shit?
It would mean that everything he taught me about values and being a good person was bullshit. That everything I believed in was a fucking lie.
“Christopher,” she squeaks out meekly. It snaps me from my trance.
“Say something. Please.” I look up at her standing in front of me, tears streaming down her face and I feel a switch about to go off. Like a bomb about to explode and it’s taking everything in me not to. So much that I’m afraid to move because the slightest thing could set me the fuck off.
“Say that again,” I ask simply, and she shakes her head.
“How is she my sister?” I say, cocking my head trying to understand. Hoping against hope there is some reasonable explanation for this. She looks away from me and I take a deep breath.
“Did he rape you?” I ask, cringing at the word. Her eyes look up at me.
“No,” she says quietly.
“So you willingly fucked my dad?” I ask her bluntly. She seems caught off guard, surprised I guess that I’d use that type of language.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says, crying again. I want to get up and leave, leave her right here crying but my body won’t move. My mind has too many questions and it won’t let any of my limbs budge until I have answers.
“Yeah, I don’t think fucking your best friend's dad is ever supposed to happen,” I say quietly.
Nice one Chris.
“Chris please,” she begs.
Bitch, fucking slut, don’t believe her tears.
“Chris please, what? What Lisa, would you like me to do or say? You’re telling me that kid in there is my dad's—My FUCKING Dad’s—Lisa! She’s what, seven or eight? Which would mean,” I stand up, my legs finally gaining strength, “You slept with him when we were in high school?” I feel like I’m about to vomit.
“We made a mistake!” she says through tears. So many tears.
“How many times?” I ask, holding my head.
“Please, it doesn’t matter,” she whimpers.
“How many times?” I roar.
“A lot! I loved him. We loved each other,” she says. Now I’m going to throw up right here.
“You sat in our house. My mother's house,” I say disgusted.
She’s a fucking cunt what do you expect?
“Shut up!” I shout. Both to her and to the fucking voice in my head. It’s him and he won’t shut up. He knew.
“Cal knew. He knew didn’t he?!” I ask her, walking closer to her so close she backs into a wall.
“He—I—we thought it was you at first,” she whimpers, looking down. She’s guilty.
“He caught us. Or you did, but after that you began to act strange. That was the first time you disappeared for days. We thought when you came back… We just knew that you were going to tell your mom,” she shakes her head. “But you didn’t, you weren’t even mad. We eventually realized it was because you didn’t remember. After that you started calling yourself Cal and whenever you did you were so mean and hateful towards us. We didn’t know then,” her voice is shaky.
“It was our fault. We made you this way,” she says, breaking down. I shake my head, I feel energy in me coming from everywhere. I walk towards her, looking at the girl I'd trusted, who was my friend, who for a brief time, I had a crush on. I cover my face and then slam my fists on the wall on both sides of her. She screams before sliding down to the floor. The little girl comes out and runs over to her and hugs her.
“Leave her alone!” she yells and I try to slow down my breathing. This rage is growing within me and I don’t know how to handle it.
“Does he know?” I ask her, trying to calm my tone. She shakes her head.
“Great. I’ll deliver the happy news,” I say before heading out the door.
Cal
March 12th 2011
You can’t outsmart the universe. It doesn’t make mistakes. It catches up with you. Sooner or later if you’re meant to be fucked, you will be. It’s like those plane movies when the kids think they’ve outsmarted death but at the end of the movie they get decapitated or burned alive. The universe remembered that Cal Scott doesn’t get to be happy. That my life was never supposed to be anything other than what it was, pointless, meaningless and insignificant.
“Cal.” Helens voice interrupts my pity party. She and Dexter sit across from me at their huge ass conference table. Her voice is sympathetic, Dexter looks like he cares and it makes me want to throw up. I don’t want their sympathy. I don’t want them to give a shit. No one should give a shit.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks me for the third fucking time.
“I don’t have a choice, Helen,” I say, trying to keep my voice dry and even.
“You could tell her the truth. Let her decide. That’s what I’d want,” she says. I look over at Dexter who's holding her hand. They don’t know how lucky they are. To be able to love each other without any interference or handicap. The biggest of their problems is agreeing on where they want to vacation.