Legacy

There’s a spot on the wall of my childhood bedroom. It’s not visible, but every time I passed it I could see you holding my sister there by her throat. I can still see the look on your face. The rage. When you repeated the move with my brother, years later, you wore the same expression. This time you dragged him from the car, dragged him from my clinging arms while he held onto me for dear life-- begging me to help him, begging you not to hurt him, swearing he was sorry, he’d be better-- while my sister and I screamed. You threw him against the side of the car, skull against glass, hand so tight around his neck he was choking within seconds. Did you realize that? That your hand was robbing your son of his life? I can still see your face. That’s the moment I started to hate you. I look so much like you my reflection makes me sick. I changed my hair. I got tattoos. I changed everything about myself that I could. But I can’t change the shape or color of my eyes, or the size of my mouth and the way it curves like yours does, whether I'm smiling or glaring. ​I hate that I have your glare. I hate that I can't change the things that make me look most like you. I've been called pretty, even beautiful, because of the way these features blend together so well. But the people that have called me beautiful have never seen the creator of these features, the anger and fierce hate behind the original wearer of them. Do I hate my features because I hate reminders of my father? Maybe. But I hate that my brother must see the face of the man that broke him every time he looks at me. I hate that if I wanted to I could look exactly like you did in that moment when you weren’t our father-- when you were our monster instead. I don't want any reminders that I'm your daughter-- because if I can inherit your looks, then I can inherit your rage, your cruelty. I can inherit your pain. I can inherit your capacity to take it out on other people. Even the people you love. Even your children. I think I inherited your fury. I do not want to be my father's daughter.