Personal Narrative: My Car Ride

The car ride was reduced to complete silence. My head was turned towards the window, longing to be anywhere but there. I noticed the road curve in the distance, the thick trees swaying in the wind, and the sky turn dark ominous shades of blue. My thoughts drifted but always seemed to be pulled back to our problems. Was it my fault? No it couldn't be. Whenever your temper got out of hand you pinned it on me. Yet somehow I was always left with the feeling the overwhelming feeling of guilt for resenting you. It was like a constant tug a war between forgiveness or refusing to accept your behavior. I glanced over at you, driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting against your head. Your jaw was clenched tightly and you had that crease

in the middle of your forehead every time you got extremely angry. Turning my head, I questioned if it was even worth it to argue you anymore.
You switched on the radio in an attempt to break the awkward tension. Each time you changed the station it became apparent just how angry you were, each each button was hit with immense force. Startled, I began to slowly inch towards the end of my seat and count down the minutes until we were home and I could be away from your temper. “I like this song,” I said quietly.
“Too bad, it's my car and I make the rules.” I turned away, rolling my eyes and expecting nothing different.

The clouds grew thick and splatters of heavy rain began to smack the roof. I watched the small trickles of rain roll down the windows. The tension in the air remained yet I still saw it necessary to argue my points. “Maybe if you just got help we wouldn't fight like this, you always blame everyone else for you problems.”
“Maybe if you weren't brainwashed into thinking everything is my fault we would have a problem,” he fired back in his usual angry tone. I sighed out of aggravation and exhaustion. “You have this hatred towards me because you think i'm the bad parent. You never point the finger at her,” he continued. His mouth was like a gun firing words uncontrollably.
“Thats your problem, you never question yourself. You never stop and think maybe you're the problem. Then you think i'm not cable of forming my own opinion without the influence of someone else. Wake up already!” Every time I spoke it was like gasoline fueling his anger.
“I’m not going to argue with a child,” he said speaking town to me. Now I could feel my anger growing, however this was a different type of anger from his. It was a mixture of anger, sadness, irritation, and aggravation. All I could think about was how exhausting the whole thing it was. It's impossible to argue your side when the other doesn't even acknowledge

you.
The car continued down the seemingly endless road and I stared out the window, trying to not let him see my eyes tear up. I kept thinking about all of the times his behavior had gotten out of control like this. I came to the conclusion that it wasn't my fault, and just because he doesn't know how to act like an adult or parent does not mean that I have to tolerate it or have anything to do with it.
When the car finally pulled up to the house and our weekly visitation was over I made the ultimate decision that I would never forget. I stepped out of the car without looking at him, muttered the words “have a nice life,” and slammed the door, leaving him and that part of my life behind me.