Content Warning: Domestic Violence
Get up. Your Mother needs you. Something has been thrown against the wall. The floorboards vibrate from voices bellowing. Unstable ground. You know the drill. Time to be a soldier. You’ve done it a dozen times. Grab your socks, get your jacket, tuck your too-lightweight-to-wear-outside sweatpants into the top of your boots. Don’t look in the mirror. No time for vanity. Grab your phone. Where’s your brother? He’s still at your Grandparents house. He’s safe. You aren’t. Stand by the door. Look through the crack. Don’t linger where you can be seen. She’s making her way back to the bedroom. Or was that the time before? Doesn’t matter. She’s here now. Open the door. Bloodshot eyes. We need to go. Nod, follow her. Walk with caution. Beyond your safe space where sound was muffled. Walk with purpose. Block out your Stepfather’s voice. How it echoes through the hallways like an empty concert chamber. Walk her to the door and wait as she stumbles to get her shoes on. Look at the Christmas tree. Try not to think about the past years. How much you loved this holiday. When it was just you and her. When the thought of a man entering your home was unknown and didn’t pose a threat. Before she met Him. And the Him that followed after Him.
Watch your Mother get her purse. Forget to grab the keys. Watch him barricade himself in front of the door. She’s grabbing at the handle, but his fist has it locked like a vehicle boot. Get in between them. Time to be a bodyguard. You are not strong, but you are persistent. He releases. You’ve made him angry. Watch him grab presents from underneath the tree and throw them out the door. Shield your Mother using your entire body. He can’t get to her if you are in his way. Watch how the presents fly, bows coming off. Don’t think about the possible fragile contents inside. Don’t think about the thought and time you put into them. Don’t think about how meticulously you wrapped them. Don’t you dare think about how excited you were to exchange them. No time to be selfish. No time to place value on monetary things.
Later, you will open these. You will pretend to not notice the ripped and frayed wrapping paper for the sake of keeping the peace. Your Mother wants to give your brother a happy childhood. This is his third Christmas. Let go of expectations. It is what it is. It’s not forever. Just your teen hood.
Stay present: He wants a reaction. He wants to hurt you. He wants to hurt your Mom. Return to the mission: Get her out. Walk down the steps. Carefully, shuffling your feet through the early morning ice on the concrete. The sun has just risen, everything around you is stagnant in a blue hue. There is frost coating every still thing in the parking lot. Look for the car. Hear the jingling of keys. Remember? Turn around and see your Stepfather with them in his hand. He motions to throw them into the woods. What are you going to do? Freeze. Watch your Mother charge toward him as he dangles them above his head. Remember she used to be an athlete. Before fibromyalgia took over her body. Before all of this and all of that. Trust she can still get them. She is strong. She is your Mother. She is a force. She can get you guys out.
Still protect her. Still shelter her as you make your way to the car. Open the doors and lock them immediately. She’s behind the wheel. Go. She collapses. Shaking and can’t turn the key. Lean over and do it for her. This is the first time you’ve started a car. Engine starts. The radio starts blaring a Christmas song. The name you will not remember. This sends your Mother spiraling.. Her laughter is contagious and can fill an empty room. When she cries, it is hard not to cry with her. You have to be strong now. Be gentle. Be a good daughter. Hold her hand. You’d drive us out of here if you could. But you’re 15. You won’t get your license for another year. You can only protect your Mother in ways that you know how. He’s back again. Pounding on the driver’s side window. Making faces. Open the door. Your Mother’s face, full of shock and fear and heartbreak. Keep them locked. She reverses out of the parking spot but immediately slams on the brakes. He’s behind us. Blocking our path.
Hit him.
I don’t realize the gravity of what I’ve said until it’s left my mouth.
Hit him.
Because he has to her and will again.
I don’t know if she is more horrified with him or me. He’s in front now. Hands on the hood. I don’t remember the words he yelled; I just remember the noise. And smoke. And ice on the road. Tears stream down her face as she swerves and goes back and forth and to and fro before she escapes his grasp. All so sudden and then so slow. Driving aggressively. Then carefully. The hill is icy. Sparkling. Everything sparkling. Everything seems better than where we just were.