every nuance. Exactly the way I’d done with my mother my entire life. Only now it was worse. Now, I didn’t have to be involved for an explosion to occur. She was the bomb and he was the fuse. And the match. They could rock my world all on their own and there was nothing I could do to avoid it. Just duck and cover and try to prepare.
The smooth material of the sheet clung to my face, making it difficult to breathe. The air was thick and humid from my exhalations. Something crashed that sounded like glass and I pulled the blanket tighter around me.
The explosions were endless. Loud voices. Angry words. Horrible names. It felt like living in a battleground. I couldn’t understand it. Michael I got, to a degree. He had nowhere else to go. But my mother? To listen to her scream at him, you’d think she hated the man. And yet, he continued to live in our home, providing not a single contribution.
There was a thud against the wall behind me that may or may not have been a body, making me flinch, and the shouts turned to moans. Even worse to listen to than the endless fighting.
My head buzzed with song lyrics, quotes from books I’d read, memories. Anything to tune them out. My fingers ached with the white knuckled grip I held onto my pillow with. I wasn’t in danger. No one was coming into my room to hurt me. I doubted anyone even remembered I was there. Still, my body and mind reacted as though I were. I cowered and hid and tried to convince myself that everything was alright. But it wasn’t. Each altercation, each interaction between them was a step in the wrong direction. Down a path that could only lead to dark and painful things. And like it or not, I was along for the ride.
I was halfway through a song that had been popular when I was in middle school when I heard the front door slam. It was after three in the afternoon. Way too late for Mom to be running errands. Definitely late enough for her to be totally—
Jumping out of bed, my foot got wrapped in the sheets and I nearly landed face first on the floor. I hopped around for balance until I was able to free myself and lunged for the bedroom door, racing down the hallway to the kitchen where the window had a clear view of the parking lot just in time to see Mom and Michael bump off each other as they blundered down the sidewalk, past her car, and around the corner. Wherever they were headed, at least they weren’t dumb enough to drive.
Sinking against the counter in relief, I squinted at the sudden onslaught of light from the bright fluorescents overhead. You don’t realize how dark a room has become until you actually leave it. The air out here felt cooler too. Guess that’s what happens when you spend most of your time hiding under blankets. Inhaling, I ignored the gag worthy stench of alcohol and BO beginning to overwhelm the small apartment. It had never smelled like the ‘spring rain’ the air fresheners I kept buying promised, but I couldn’t remember it ever smelling that bad. In correlation, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard Michael shower. Ever? The man was a scumbag. And a slob.
The counters and table were cluttered with empty beer cans. Collecting an armful at a time, I set them to drain in the sink while I moved on to trashing the dozens of wadded up paper towel tossed wherever they happened to land. I nearly put an eye out trying to finagle the broom to sweep the crumbs off the counter into the waiting garbage can below. And I didn’t even want to think about what the sticky film was on the floor as I used a towel and some dish soap to wipe it up.
When the glare was nearly blinding, I moved on to the living room and stopped. What was the point? It looked exactly like the kitchen. No matter what I did, five minutes after they got home, it would look that way again. Why bother? I was ready to throw in the towel—literally—when a knock sounded at the door.
When someone knocks on your door, what do you do? You answer it,
The smooth material of the sheet clung to my face, making it difficult to breathe. The air was thick and humid from my exhalations. Something crashed that sounded like glass and I pulled the blanket tighter around me.
The explosions were endless. Loud voices. Angry words. Horrible names. It felt like living in a battleground. I couldn’t understand it. Michael I got, to a degree. He had nowhere else to go. But my mother? To listen to her scream at him, you’d think she hated the man. And yet, he continued to live in our home, providing not a single contribution.
There was a thud against the wall behind me that may or may not have been a body, making me flinch, and the shouts turned to moans. Even worse to listen to than the endless fighting.
My head buzzed with song lyrics, quotes from books I’d read, memories. Anything to tune them out. My fingers ached with the white knuckled grip I held onto my pillow with. I wasn’t in danger. No one was coming into my room to hurt me. I doubted anyone even remembered I was there. Still, my body and mind reacted as though I were. I cowered and hid and tried to convince myself that everything was alright. But it wasn’t. Each altercation, each interaction between them was a step in the wrong direction. Down a path that could only lead to dark and painful things. And like it or not, I was along for the ride.
I was halfway through a song that had been popular when I was in middle school when I heard the front door slam. It was after three in the afternoon. Way too late for Mom to be running errands. Definitely late enough for her to be totally—
Jumping out of bed, my foot got wrapped in the sheets and I nearly landed face first on the floor. I hopped around for balance until I was able to free myself and lunged for the bedroom door, racing down the hallway to the kitchen where the window had a clear view of the parking lot just in time to see Mom and Michael bump off each other as they blundered down the sidewalk, past her car, and around the corner. Wherever they were headed, at least they weren’t dumb enough to drive.
Sinking against the counter in relief, I squinted at the sudden onslaught of light from the bright fluorescents overhead. You don’t realize how dark a room has become until you actually leave it. The air out here felt cooler too. Guess that’s what happens when you spend most of your time hiding under blankets. Inhaling, I ignored the gag worthy stench of alcohol and BO beginning to overwhelm the small apartment. It had never smelled like the ‘spring rain’ the air fresheners I kept buying promised, but I couldn’t remember it ever smelling that bad. In correlation, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard Michael shower. Ever? The man was a scumbag. And a slob.
The counters and table were cluttered with empty beer cans. Collecting an armful at a time, I set them to drain in the sink while I moved on to trashing the dozens of wadded up paper towel tossed wherever they happened to land. I nearly put an eye out trying to finagle the broom to sweep the crumbs off the counter into the waiting garbage can below. And I didn’t even want to think about what the sticky film was on the floor as I used a towel and some dish soap to wipe it up.
When the glare was nearly blinding, I moved on to the living room and stopped. What was the point? It looked exactly like the kitchen. No matter what I did, five minutes after they got home, it would look that way again. Why bother? I was ready to throw in the towel—literally—when a knock sounded at the door.
When someone knocks on your door, what do you do? You answer it,
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