Hybrid

"Leia, let’s go—we’re going to miss our flight!"

"Dad, do I have to go?" I yell reluctantly from the top of the stairs.

This is the fifth time in ten years that I’ve unpacked just to pack up again.

"Yes, Analeia, you have to come. I’m sorry, sweetie, but you don’t get much choice in the matter.”

“You work at a power plant. How much further up the chain is there to go? At this point, they might as well appoint you CEO.”

Every new promotion came with a change in scenery. And this time he promised he wouldn’t take another promotion—that this place would be home. But here we are again. Moving. We never stay anywhere long enough for me to adjust to each “new beginning,” as my dad so often puts it. Seven years in Arizona. Three years in Minnesota. Two years in Maine. Six months in Michigan. And three years and six months in California.

“I’ve told you before, this isn’t a promotion. The plant made cuts, and we need to be grateful that I was able to get a transfer. Not many of the men were as fortunate as I was.”

"I’m turning eighteen next week. I can live with Kelly until I graduate, then move on campus once I get to college," I try to bargain.

Kelly’s my best friend. She graduated high school last year and got her own apartment right next to her university. She invited me to stay with her when my dad announced we were moving. But I told her I’d think about it. I was too nervous to take her up on her offer or even mention it to my dad.

But at this moment, I refuse to hold any regard for how he feels, because for years now there has been none for mine. When the words leave my lips, there’s a visible twinge of frustration in his eyes. His face turns slightly red as his lips part to respond, then he retracts. He drags his hand down his face drawing in a long breath. His chest rises with the inhale, before he finally says,

"No, Analeia."

He never responds in anger. He’s always level-headed and unreasonably calm.

“You must also take me for some kind of fool. You’re not staying here just so you can follow that little boy around who’s no good for you.”

My stomach curls with every word he speaks, bending and twisting forming into a knot. His knowledge, yet ignorance, of my desire to stay makes heat rush to my cheeks. Embarrassment stinging while frustration boils. He swears he knows everything. But if he did, he’d acknowledge that every move tears me apart—literally. I’m ripped away from friends, opportunities, and a life I was finally beginning to build, only to be dragged into another unknown.

I’d always complied, swallowing every complaint at the expense of my own feelings, trusting that my father was always doing what was best. But now, the urge to resist rose in my gut like bile climbing up my throat, threatening to pour out in protest.

When I was younger, the bonds I made with people were genuine yet fragile. My dad was my only best friend, so I clung to that. Me and him against the world—there was nothing we couldn’t conquer. Each move was a new adventure. But I’m older now, and the connections I’ve built carry a different kind of weight. I don’t want to let them go. He can’t do this to me again. He promised.

I rush downstairs, desperate to confront—or maybe plead with him.

“Wait, I—”

“Enough! End of discussion. Now let’s go.” His voice is flat, stern, absolute.

My feet freeze three steps from the bottom of the staircase. He turns his back to me, opening the front door to finish loading his truck.

We don’t fight often. He raised me on the phrase “It’s us against the world.” So we'd remember our battles should never be with one another because he’s all I have in this world. I know of no other family.

And of course, the arguments we do have are all about Elijah.

“Analeia, I know boys like him. He’s only after one thing.”

“I said no already, so go ahead and cancel your little ‘date.’”

That’s what he would always say.

I met Elijah sophomore year in AP Calculus. He cheated on his placement test, hoping to not repeat precalculus, but instead outscored it completely and ended up stuck in the course.

I remember noticing him struggle in class. Eventually, I offered to help, and he was eager to accept. He looked at me helplessly, wide-eyed like a doe, smiling as he said, “I could’ve sworn my drowning was silent, but I’m glad you saw me.” His vulnerability was beautiful it drew me toward him. He didn’t know it, but I felt heard. In some unwarranted way, his words spoke to a part of my soul that had been neglected. There was a boldness in him I longed for, and I was completely entranced.

We studied every day after school. Over time, study sessions turned into personal Q&As, then coffee dates. When we made things official, I brought him home to meet my dad. At first glance, my dad’s face grimaced with disapproval. He believes he’s the best judge of character and that he can “read people”.

I miss when Elijah was still a secret because that’s when the arguments began.

Plus, we’re about to mark our two-year anniversary—which happens to fall on my birthday. That’s even more reason why I can’t leave now. It would ruin everything. We’ve mapped out our entire life after graduation—the college we’d attend, our first apartment, our wedding, and everything beyond that. The plan was to stay together, to make sure our relationship lasted. If I leave now, it compromises everything. I can’t even begin to imagine my life without him.

Although the sound of constant relocation seems adventurous, my father doesn’t allow such luxuries.I’ve never been able to wander around town, visit a friend’s house, or attend an after-school event. My life has been insulated by the walls of every home my father has ensured will confine my independence.

But being with Elijah was the freedom I desired. Like a breath that was trapped in my chest finally breaking through giving my lungs the opportunity to fill to its capacity. But now I feel that breath returning, reaccumulating in my chest filling it with dread, defeat and hopelessness. Knowing that the person allocating my freedom will be out of reach.

I run my hand along the doorframe as memories of Elijah walking me home after our secret, after-school rendezvous flash through my mind.The tension in my cheekbones ease as the unknowing smile I held from the recollection of the memory fades. As sweet as the memory tastes my brows begin to furrow because it’s also bitter. As I remember every lie my father trusted that spilled so easily from the lips of the daughter he believed was innocent.

Peeling my hand from the doorframe, I press it against my chest, trying to ease the ache blooming in my heart.

I take one last look at the place I’ve called home for the past four years, then grab my suitcase and head outside. To my surprise, my dad isn’t loading the truck. Instead, he’s leaning against his old, beaten-up Jeep, scowling in my direction.

“There’s someone here to see you,” he says through gritted teeth.

My stomach drops.