Stranded at the Petrol Station

The lights are brighter than they had any right being. I wish the environment was more sensitive to my feelings because I’m going through a lot right now. Everything is blurry due to the tears in my eyes. All I can comprehend are the flashes of color from the poor passing patrons wondering what has this sixteen-year-old so emotional. There is no sound, only the yelling of my thoughts. “Was I not worth it?”

Earlier that day it was a happy occasion other than the clouds.It was the day after my sixteenth birthday and my dad, grandmother, best friend Maddie, and I were on our way to a waterpark about three hours away from home. I was bursting with excitement the whole ride there. I had barely slept the night before because of the anticipation of the awesome day I was supposed to have. What could go wrong?

The first wrench in the plan happened as soon as we got to the park. My dad, having drunk the night before with my uncle who shares my birthday, opted out of partaking in any amusement. Instead, he would take a nap in the car. “Okay,” I thought, “I wish he could have fun with me, but I understand if he isn’t feeling well.”

We then split up with Maddie and I heading to the first coolest attraction we could find, my dad walking to the car, and my grandmother wandering off in search of food. We hopped from slide to slide, park to park. I remember the contrast between the summer sun on my skin and the freezing cold spring water that envelops your body with a shock. The afternoon was fantastic until the second bad omen. The rain began.

First it was an unconcerning drizzle. We were already soaking wet, what was a little extra water? Then it devolved into a monstrous downpour that shut down the rides. Maddie and I rushed for cover to create a game plan. We called my grandmother and met up with her. Next was to find my dad.

He wasn’t answering his phone, which is unlike him, but we were in a waterpark. We ventured through the rain back to the car, but he was not there. We then frantically searched across all the parks asking guest services if they had seen my dad or if he was trying to get into contact with us. The storm was positively correlated with my anxiety. Hours passed until finally, I got a text from my grandma; she found him.

We happened upon an interesting sight when we got to my dad’s location. This man was more drunk than I had ever seen him in my entire life, which was saying something because he was known to drink a six pack a night. Apparently, he had spent the day hopping hot tub bars. He then described to me, a teenager, how he was hitting on a bartender two years older than his daughter. He explained to me in detail how he asked to buy her a coke instead of a drink. Get it? Because she’s underaged. We decided it would be best to leave.

We head towards the car and the rain picks back up. It’s bad this time. My dad sat himself in the driver’s seat like he wasn’t absolutely wasted, and this was a problem. “Shouldn’t grandma drive?” I ask.

“No,” he says sternly. “I am confident in my abilities.” I certainly was not, as I have never seen him this inebriated, and it was storming as if there were a hurricane. So, I sat in the back seat wondering if I’d make it home alive. I didn’t want to die, and I definitely didn’t want Maddie to die. None of this was her fault. I started to cry softly as he swerved out of the parking lot and began to pick up speed towards the drenched highway.

“Hey, why don’t we stop at Buc-ee’s?” Maddie asks. Buc-ee’s is a gas station the size of a small grocery store with everything from snacks to t-shirts to even home décor. I could not fathom why stopping there would help our situation in the slightest. “No,” she said while giving me a look. “seriously let’s stop at Buc-ee’s.” I understood. She didn’t need a bathroom break; she was suggesting a way out of this death trap! I attempted to calm down so I could try my best to nonchalantly ask if we could stop there. Fortunately, we pulled up a few minutes later.

After getting out, I asked my grandma if she would be okay driving. All I got from her was, “If he says he’s fine driving, then he’s fine driving.” I knew deep down in my gut that this was wrong and I needed to stand up for not only myself, but for my friend.

“Dad.” I said as I tried to assume the most assertive posture I could muster. “I’m not getting back in the car unless you switch places and let grandma drive.” Then came the silence.

“You’re seriously giving me an ultimatum?” He asked as though he was testing my resolve. “Fuck you.” With that he stormed to the car, my grandma not far behind. Then he did the unthinkable; he left. He left his visually impaired sixteen-year-old daughter and her equally non-driving best friend at a glorified gas station that was hours away from home. I made him choose between his pride and his daughter, and he chose his pride.

This is where Maddie really stepped up. She called her mom who dropped everything she was doing to come and save us, like a true parent would. In the meantime, we found a seat on a bench in the footwear section that seemed grossly out of place for a gas station. Maddie bought me vanilla ice cream to try to calm me down. I was sobbing, unsure of what to think or do.

Here is where I paint an absurd picture. Two teenage girls sit with their hair wet from a day of waterparks and rain in the footwear section of a gas station. One is eating ice cream and crying as though she’s lost a dear friend. The other is equally unsure of what to do but is coping much better. No one, not a customer nor an employee, stops to ask whether they are okay. It is storming loudly outside, the sounds are amplified by the rain hitting the roof.

I am eating ice cream, though I do not taste it. I consume it as though it can take my sadness away like it used to when I was a child, but the magic does not work today. I sit and stare, motionless. All of my energy is going to my brain where my thoughts do marathon sprints trying to rationalize the situation. Why did this happen? Was it that hard to switch seats?

Meanwhile, my dad and grandma sit at a Chuy’s not far from home. They eat dinner and do not discuss the fact that they just abandoned two children at a gas station.

After almost two hours, Maddie’s mom arrives. She pulls up in her truck fuming about what kind of man-child acts this way and leave her kid at a gas station. I cannot blame her. I remember nothing of the ride home as the numbness finally kicks in.

After finally making it to the safety of Maddie’s house, my dad has the nerve to call and text me demanding that I come home immediately. I panic and hand the phone to Maddie’s mom. “Oh, you want to call the police for me providing shelter for your daughter? I ought to call the police on you for neglect!”

Eventually, the police were called. A very nice young officer calmly explained to me that I was a minor and had to go home if my dad said so. All he was able to do was advise me to stay in my room for the night.

The police escorted me home and had a chat with my dad on the front lawn. I never learned what was said, but it didn’t make my dad question his decision the least bit. I went to my room and barricaded myself in because I didn’t have a lock. My dad tried to lecture me through the door about how badly I had behaved, but it was a long day and I was tired. I tuned him out and went to sleep.

This fiasco has been pushed to the back of my brain for half a decade. It’s just something that happened. It was brought up a few times in family therapy, but my dad maintains that he was given an ultimatum and acted with reason. No therapist stood up for me.

My thoughts on the situation changed drastically over the years. In the moment, I was too overwhelmed to think of much of anything other than hurt. Days after, I was too understanding. My dad said I embarrassed him, and I even apologized for it. Then, very slowly, over the years I began to process it bit by bit. Now I feel nothing but rage when I think of this. If present me were there that day almost five years ago, I would have had some choice words for my father and my grandmother that backed him up.

Because of this and other similar situations, my dad and I don’t have the best relationship. There was that time he tried to leave me at a psychiatric hospital, and that time years later where he joked about my suicidal ideation I was battling with in high school showing that nothing had really changed. We play this game where we pretend like there’s nothing wrong between us and keep the subjects of our conversations light. He’ll send me a funny cat picture and I’ll send a meme. On that day, he lost the title of father in my mind. Now he is just a former roommate to me.

What really broke my heart was my grandma taking his side. She was the closest thing I had to a mother, and that was a role I was desperately trying to fill. She was just as responsible for leaving us that day as my dad was, and it’s still hard to wrap my head around. She is a sweet lady and has always had my back. What made her betray me like this?

I hope you can’t relate to my tale. Being literally abandoned by someone I used to look up to and regard so highly has royally fucked with my self-esteem. I really started noticing the symptoms of depression after this incident, though there were warning signs beforehand. It’s also hard for me to label this as trauma. Who am I to be traumatized by being left at a gas station when so many others have gone through so much worse? It has taken years to acknowledge that my feelings are valid and it’s okay to feel hurt. I still have a long road of healing ahead of me that hopefully one day leads to forgiveness, but for now I take it day by day.

If I had the chance, I’d like to say to those girls sitting soaked in the footwear section in a gas station miles away from home that everything will work out in time. I would tell them that things get easier with more wisdom and perspective. I would encourage them to keep listening to their gut and doing what was right. I’d give myself a well-needed hug and Maddie a well-deserved pat on the back.

I’m proud I stood up for me. My relationship with my father remains turbulent, but this was the beginning of me standing up for myself, That’s a skill more valuable than anything. Never be afraid to listen to your gut. It just may save your life.