Emancipation.
It’s a big word with an even bigger meaning. My mom stands in her kitchen and stares at me as if I had just taken the butcher knife and shoved it into my stomach. “What do you mean you want to be emancipated?”
It’s a surreal feeling. On the counter is a plate of hot chocolate chip cookies, a bouquet of balloons and two letters of acceptance into colleges along with partial scholarship declarations. One from the college in town. The other from the University of Kentucky. My mother opened both of them before I arrived home from school.
I’m not angry Mom opened my mail. I didn’t expect anything less. To be honest, I have such low expectations for my parents when it comes to respecting me that there isn’t much that shocks me anymore.
“I’m filing in court for emancipation,” I repeat. “My lawyer is handling it today.”
It’s the end of November, nearing the holiday break, and probably not the best timing, but I can’t live like this anymore. Mom and Dad have made their choices, and I’m making mine.
A week after I reported what happened between my parents to the police, my mother was granted custody of me and Isabelle after she proved that my father had left the house and that he was renting an apartment in town. We also have a new, shiny social worker who confirms that our family attends therapy weekly and who reminds my father that she’s watching him like a hawk on a field mouse.
I’ll admit, I like our social worker. She’s like a five-foot-four poodle who is half grizzly bear.
Dad has visitation rights, and I’ve gone along to keep an eye on my sister, but I don’t talk to him. He tries to talk to me, but I’m not there to sweep up the ashes of the bridge we both lit on fire and burned. I’m there to make sure he respects my sister.
While Dad is “officially” out of the house, Mom hasn’t truly thrown Dad out. He doesn’t live here, but he’s still in control of her life. The physical moving out is more for show for the court than a true reflection of our lives.
Last night, Mom crossed the huge, gaping moat I created that’s filled with fire-breathing dragons and barbed wire when she invited Dad home for dinner. I’m not stupid. I know what that means. Dinner leads to staying to chat, to help with homework and to watch TV. That leads to a late night where he stays over, and that eventually leads to him returning home.
The merry-go-round my mom and dad is on goes round and round and it’s broken because it never stops. Because it doesn’t stop, I can be easily fooled to believe that I can’t get off, but I refuse to be conned. I will exit this insane ride, and I’m leaving now, even though that means I have to jump. I have to prove to myself and show my sister that the two of us deserve better.
Like Pastor Hughes explained about Jacob, I don’t have to let fear and anger rule my life, and that also means I don’t have to settle here.
Mom drops onto a stool at the counter, looking utterly and completely destroyed. A part of me hurts for her, but she’s made her choice and now I’m making mine.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Mom says.
“I don’t want to leave either, but I can’t watch Dad hurt you anymore. If I stay here, I’m condoning your behavior and his.”
“He says he can change.” My mother stares into space as if she’s in shock. “He says he’s going to really change this time.”
“Good.” I want him to change, and there’s this small desperate hope in my heart that I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of that prays desperately for him to change. “But he needs to work on himself without us. Dad needs time, Dad needs space and he needs to figure out his problems before being involved with any of us again.”
Mom slowly moves her head to look at me, as if she’s stuck in sand. “If you do this, you’ll be on your own. He’ll cut you off financially. I won’t be able to help you if you fail.”
Even though I know this, my stomach roils. “I’d rather be on my own than live a life where I think it’s my fault my father chooses to hit, and I’d rather live my own life than think it’s okay for someone to abuse you and hurt me and my sister.”
“You’ll fail,” she says. “You’ll be broke, you’ll be hungry, you’ll be alone and you’ll fail.”
I swallow back tears because she could be right, but I’ll hate myself if I never try.