The phone rings and i hesitate to pick up. Being nice to someone i dislike isn't one of my strong suits. i know it's a message from the stepfather. he asks me to ring him in penang. what the fuck is he doing in penang? all i want to do write something rude back in return but i've been given strict orders not to agitate him.

so i dial the number. he picks up. i cringe when i hear his voice. part of me wants to break his face. another part wants to take a dump in his shoe.

'Hello elliot'

'hey'. i tried sounding as casual as possible.

'You know what's going to happen between me and your mother?'. He pronounces it as "mazeer', his french heavy.

'yeah. but please don't involve me. this is between you and my mother. i have no say in this and i don't want to take sides'. I lie. i obviously take my mother's side.

'You have to be involved.' He's always wanted things his way, whether it was logical or not. 'you need to be our middle person. so far she is being nice to me and if things goes nicely, everything will be alright for you and your mother and poh poh'. we affectionately call my grandmother 'poh poh'. 'but if she wants to be nasty, i can be nasty too. there won't be a house for you and her anymore and poh poh cannot stay in malaysia. i can do all that if i want to.' he threatens.

I feel the veins throb in my head. my face is flushed with anger and the urge to drive back to penang for some whoopass is overwhelming.

'This is what i meant by not wanting to be involved.' i say to him, controlling myself. 'we can still be friends after all this, but dragging me into this is NOT helping.'

'But you HAVE to be involved!' he says again without giving it a second thought. this was what i've always disliked about him. everything is about what he wants and everybody else should just shut up and listen. 'Have you forgotten everything i've done for you?' he says, trying to guilt me into caving in.

I experience a sense of deja vu. i've been put in this position before. Suddenly i was six again, sitting on a bench with my biological father in a park in Penang. It was about 6 months after the divorce and he had custody of me during weekends. people were jogging, walking their dogs. couples walked happily hand in hand, oblivious to the emotional confusion going on in this little boy's head.

'elliot. you have to choose.' says my father. 'do you want to stay with me or your mother?'

'i don't know.' my voice was small and tired. i loved my father, but i hated what he did to my mother. she was carried home in the rain by some family friends at 2am about four months before this incident. her face was bruised and battered. she was knocked out. blood was everywhere, staining her favourite yellow dress. i didn't know who this woman was. i broke out in tears when i found out. i couldn't even recoqnize my own mother. he had attacked her. If her friends didn't find her, she might have been left to die in the rain in the middle of nowhere.

'elliot you have to choose, this is very important.' my father says to me. 'do you want to stay with daddy or mommy? have you forgotten everything i've done for you?'

i had to choose my words carefully. i knew if he was recording this conversation, i might have to stay with him. so i did what every 6 year old would do.

i cried and said 'BWAAAAAAHHHH I DON'T WANT TO STAY WITH ANYBODY!'.

I snapped back to reality. 'have you forgotten everything i've done for you?' stepfather asks again.

i kept silent for awhile. this conversation is over. he blindly want what he wants and i obviously will not give in. but i musn't agitate him. 'dad i have to go. i need to run some errands and i have to be somewhere.' i lied. i seem to be getting better at lying these days.

'ok. i won't be staying at home tonight. you call me later.' he's still not giving up. stubborn prick.

'nah you call me. i don't know how to contact you.'

'yes, i will try to borrow my friends' phone or use the hotel phone'.

'bye dad. take care.' he didn't know that was my final goodbye to him.

'bon noui elliot, talk to you later' he says.

my phone rang several times that night. i pretend to be sleeping.