They were fighting again, what a surprise. The low hissing
and agitated tones were what woke me. I looked over at my clock; 1:30
a.m. I rose up out of bed, straining my ears; muffled insults and emphasized swear words were all I could make out.
I walked over to my door and hunkered down to the floor, putting my ear
to the gap between the door and the carpet to get a better listen. Suddenly my
Dad’s voice rang out.
“I’m done!” Then came a big boom; probably a chair, or an object equal in size being thrown into a wall. Curiosity
crept over me, I had to explore the issue further. I knew from practice how to
escape my room without making a sound. I would start with the door first,
turning the knob in thirty degree increments, and quickly jerking the door open
so the hinges wouldn’t screech. From there I had to step strategically,
avoiding the spots in the floor that creaked. Finally, when I arrived at our
staircase, I knew to count all the way down to the fifth to last step, where I would sit to listen. I was
perfectly concealed by the corner if you were looking from the foyer, which
was where they went to have “discussions.” Now that I was there, I could hear everything,
but still nothing made sense. How could anyone call this a discussion? Mama and I had discussions, but those were usually when I
had a question about something that made her nervous, or if I was getting too
excited in the grocery store, and those discussions never sounded anything like
this. There was so much anger in the air; I could feel the disdain they felt
for each other, and I couldn’t even see them. They weren’t even yelling about
anything that mattered, it was just name-calling now. Though I hated listening
to it, I knew I had to be there to listen, to make sure that both of them
would still be there in the morning. There were too many occasions of mom telling
me to go get my poo-bear backpack and pack up my favorite toys because we were
taking another trip to Grandma’s house which was never any fun. It always
smelled like coffee and old carpet, and they didn’t allow me to watch any of
the cartoons I liked. I just didn’t understand, I wanted to, but when Mom would
try to explain it to me, it just never made sense.
“Mom’s
and Dad’s fight sweetie, it's perfectly normal,” she would always say.
That was what confused me the most. You weren't supposed to name-call
or yell in school, and that was a rule made for strangers, so why was it okay to do to someone you loved?
As
I sat there on the step hidden by the wall and the shadows, I mulled
all this over. I thought seriously about coming out from my hiding spot, and sharing my newly found six-year old wisdom, but knew it was no use.
Hours of more controlled yelling passed, and my eyes grew heavier, I
fought to keep them open, to stay awake and listen. Even though
neither of them knew I was there, I figured if I gave up and left, they
would too...so I stayed. Eventually the sound of their voices started to
fade, and the lighting grew dimmer until I was completely immersed in
black silence.
Bright
light seemed to try to invade the tiny space between my eyelids; I
slowly opened them to find myself tucked into bed and the morning sun
shining through my curtains. I jumped up and instantly ran to my window;
both cars were still in the drive. A slight smile crept over my face
with the satisfying knowledge that I had kept them home, at least for
one more night.
