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Chapter 7. Regretful Behavior
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The minute I walk through the door, I know something bad will happen. Catalina’s nowhere to be seen, but I can hear the TV. My head is killing me. I step into the living room and trip over something that lies on the floor.
Once again, the taste of blood spreads in my mouth. I try to crawl back up. Then I hear small feet run across the floor, so I look up to find Bailey standing over me. He looks horrified, and grabs my hand. “Hurt?”
“Yeah,” I snap, sitting up. “Is this yours?” I grab the stuffed giraffe that was the reason to why I fell. Bailey nods in agreement, holding his hand out to take it from me.
“Sorry.”
“You can’t have your stuff lying around like this, it’s dangerous,” I say, my voice too loud. I never yell at Bailey, I never even raise my voice. He gives me a look of betrayal, before he turns his head away. I notice that more of his toys are scattered all over the floor.
“Fred...”
I turn around to see Catalina stand over by the door. When she sees my face, she puts a hand over her mouth and gasps. Her pity is the last thing I need, and sadly, I take it out on Bailey. “Go clean your room!” I loose my temper, and he quickly pads off to the other side of the room. Why does he obey me, even though I’m mean to him? Bailey starts to load his toys into the big box by the window.
My pride tells me to leave, but I feel obligated to apologize. Right now I’m too upset to listen to neither reason nor insanity. I get up and walk in to the bedroom. Then I go through the closet, starting to pack my bag. Catalina comes running a few seconds after that. “What are you doing?” she asks.
“Leaving,” I growl. The expression on her face clearly shows that she thinks I’m leaving for good, leaving her. She hurries up to me and grabs my arm. “Get off.” While I’m randomly throwing things into my bag, she sinks down on the bed, looking at me with tears in her eyes.
“Why?”
“I’m coming back,” I mutter. Then I hear a noise from the living room. What did the boy do now? I leave my wife confused, while I go to check on Bailey. He’s still crawling around on the floor, picking up his things. Now I finally break down.
Bailey looks up at me when I approach him, putting a puzzle into the box very slowly to show me that he’s doing what I told him to do. I kneel next to him. “Bailey, listen.” What if he doesn’t understand my apology? What if he only understands when I scream?
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” he whispers, breaking my heart again. Even though I just yelled at him, he still looks at me with those big, wide, brown eyes that he has from his mother. Then he traces his fingers over my face, making me twitch. “Hurt?”
“Don’t worry, it was an accident,” I tell him. Bailey looks to consider this carefully. Then he puts down the book he’s holding, just so he can give me a hug. I almost cry into his shoulder when he does this. Who would ever want to hurt a wonderful child like Bailey? I’m a bad father.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “Bailey, do you understand that? I’m sorry for yelling. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“S’okey.”
“No, it’s not. I love you, Bailey. Never forget that. I’m sorry. I can help you clean this up, okay? And when I get back from Seattle, I promise that we’ll do something together.”
“You’re leaving?” Bailey asks, looking sad.
I nod. “Yeah, I have to work. But I’ll be back soon, I promise. Then we’ll do whatever you want. We could go to the park, or buy ice-cream, or make a trip somewhere.”
Bailey smiles. “Yeah!”
“Is that cool?”
“Cool!” he beams, giving me another hug. I hug back, not wanting to let him go.
I help him gather the rest of the toys, and then I tell him to go play in his room. I still have some damages to fix. Why can’t I control my anger?
Catalina is sitting on the floor, leaning up against the wall, crying. This sight is also heartbreaking. I quickly walk in, crouching down in front of her to be able to apologize. I put my hand behind her head and pull her into my arms. She just falls into me, shaking and crying. “Catalina, I’m sorry. There was this thing at work. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“Why are you leaving?” she sobs against my shoulder. “What did I do?”
“You haven’t done anything!” I exclaim, tilting her chin up so I can look at her. “Don’t you ever think that. My Dad is forcing me to leave. I have to go to Seattle tonight; I’ll be back next week.”
Catalina becomes quiet. “Why?”
“There’s this meeting, very important. I have to go, or...” I decide to not mention my father’s threat. “It’s very important.”
“I understand. When do you have to leave?” she asks. She’s too understanding, really. Most wives would object loudly, telling their husbands to reschedule. My wife doesn’t speak against me, ever. She should, but she doesn’t.
My watch has stopped. Damn. “At 6.30. The plane leaves at 6.30. I’m in a hurry.” Catalina leaves my arms and begins to pack my bag for me. I don’t deserve someone like her. Or a son that wonderful. I’m just a jerk, trapped inside a miserable man’s body.
“I’ll do that, don’t worry,” I tell her. She’s about to object when Bailey howls from the living room. Something about the TV again. Was I that addicted to TV when I grew up? Probably.
“I’m coming!” Catalina answers, throwing one quick look at my bag. “The TV is making hell. I have to go help him, or he’ll tear down the whole thing. I’ll pack that later.” She leaves, carefully wiping the tears away from her face to avoid revealing to Bailey that she’s been crying.
I hurry to pack my bag before she comes back. There’s no need for her to be nice to me when I’m not treating her very well. When I’m done, I go to see what’s happening in the living room. As usual, Bailey is sitting on the carpet, staring at the TV. Although the difference is that it is not turned on. Catalina is lying on her knees, taking apart something on the back of the TV.
She’s the handy one in our marriage. She’s fixing the things that Bailey and I break, like the TV, the stereo or that damn VCR. I’ve broken the DVD-player a thousand times, and she knows how to repair it every single time. It surprises me, since she’s such a klutz. But I guess klutzy people know how to fix things just as well as others.
I’m not very good at repairing stuff, unless it’s something easy that doesn’t require tools. Instead I have to make dinner, wash up the dishes and wash Bailey’s clothes whenever I’m home. Catalina can’t cook, she’s having some sort of weird war with the dish-washer and she’s unable to wash clothes without shrinking them. We have a house-keeper who does all the cleaning, all the dishes and all the washing, but that’s just a few times a week. If I need something washed right away, I have to either hand it to a dry-cleaner or do it myself.
“TV!” Bailey exclaims, making me laugh.
“You have to wait,” I say, sitting down next to him. “It’s difficult to repair a TV. That’s why I’m not allowed to touch it.”
“You probably broke it,” Catalina smiles. “Wouldn’t surprise me at all.”
She’s probably right too. Bailey never touches the TV; he has to use the remote control. I, on the other hand, get really restless when something doesn’t work, so I slap it around until it either breaks or starts to function.
Bailey gets his beloved TV back a few moments later. Catalina grabs my arm and drags me up from the floor. “You’re late, Fred. It’s 5.15.” She walks out into the kitchen, climbs up on one of the chairs and puts the tools she was using back in the closet. “Come here.”
While I whimper, she tries to cover up the damages my father caused on my face. I hate when she uses that ointment shit, because it stings. I’m still a huge baby when it comes to pain. “Could you watch it?” I mutter when she puts some ice on my cheek. She just snickers, like always when I behave like this.
“You should thank me. Hadn’t it been for my ability to make you feel better; you’d have to go to Seattle with a big bruise on your cheek bone. Why does he do this?” she sighs, not really asking, just commenting. For as long as I can remember, she’s been aware of what my father does to me. He even tried to hit her once. I’ll kill him if he ever tries that again.
“He’s mad because of that stupid project,” I explain, facing the ceiling while she’s pampering my chin.
Catalina winces. “Because I ruined your work yesterday? Is it my fault?”
“Of course not,” I say. “He doesn’t need reasons, you know that. Hadn’t it been the project, he’d found something else to bicker about. I guess I was just pushing things.”
“What did you say?”
“Eh, well, I guess I mentioned something about his wife being... sort of slutty,” I mumble. My father has been married a dozen times, so I’m not sure which wife I attacked earlier. It couldn’t have been my Mom, because he hates her. The only thing they agree about is that my life is crap.
“Fuck, you shouldn’t have said that,” Catalina exclaims. “Fred, you can’t say that.”
I grimace, avoiding her eyes. Sure, it was a stupid thing to say, but it’s me. I always say idiotic things I regret later on. Although, I’m not sure I regret saying this. Maybe if it had been my own mother, because she is my mother. But I’m not even sure about that... “He’s my Dad. I’ll say whatever the fuck I want to say to him. He would’ve punched me anyway,” I hiss.
Catalina shrugs, looking out into the living room to see if Bailey can overhear our conversation. That wouldn’t be good. “I wish he could stop doing this to you. It’s not fair.”
“Don’t you think I fucking know that?” I snap, waving away her hand from my face. “But there’s not much I can do about it!”
“Keep your voice down,” Catalina mumbles. “Bailey is in the other room.”
The migraine is back, and I bury my head in my hands, moaning. “Sorry. This is not what I need right now. I don’t need Seattle. I need you. I need Bailey.” Catalina puts her arms around me and I lean against her shoulder. I try to block out all my emotions, but it’s useless. I hate this part of my life.
“You feel any better?” she whispers into my ear. I nod, even though I only feel worse. “Do you want me to follow you to the airport?”
“No, stay here with Bailey. Maybe I can get home sooner. Or maybe I could get tickets for you later into the week.”
“I have to stay here with Bailey, he can’t go to Seattle,” Catalina points out. We talked about getting a nanny, but we decided that we didn’t want him to be raised by some stranger, so one of us is always home with him instead.
Catalina gathers my things together, shouts for Bailey to come and say goodbye, then she hands me a sandwich. “Something to eat on the plane.”
“Did you make it?” I wonder, looking at the food item with suspicious eyes. She shoves my arm, and I laugh. “Sorry, but you suck at making food.”
“No, I bought it!” she smiles. “Right, Bailey?”
“Yeah, and godis!” Bailey shouts, mixing languages again. I think I need to have an English lesson with him when I get back.
“Candy,” I correct, picking the little boy up from the floor. He gives me a hug, his small hands holding on to my sweater. “Bye, Bailey. I promise to call you, every day.”
Catalina kicks my leg a little. “What about me?”
“Fine, I’ll call you too,” I roll my eyes. She leans up to me, giving me a kiss. “I love you both. Keep out of trouble while I’m gone.”
Bailey nods, fighting to get down on the floor again. I raise my eyebrow at my wife. “Did you hear me, Catalina?”
“I heard you,” she replies, kicking me a bit harder. “I’ll miss you.”
Now I’m stressed again. “I’ll miss you too. I love you.” I put my arms around her waist, kissing her one more time.
While I’m walking out on the street to get a cab, my whole body aches. My head is spinning from the migraine, my face is sore thanks to my dad, and I miss my family so much that I almost start to cry.