Sord in Prosperity - Hope Beyond the Apocalypse

EP. 128 - BEATEN

IN THE FIRST MONTHS after buying the convenience store, things seemed to be working out okay. However, my mom kept mentioning the liquor inventory that was oddly missing and the possibility that an employee was stealing the profits.

The new house also was okay. It was closer to my high school friends, and all seemed to be going well.

Except for the yelling.

Which always escalated into crying.

Which often escalated into screaming.

"Mom, what happened to your eyes?" I asked, surprised that she walked into the kitchen one morning entirely disheveled and in a severely grumpy mood.

This was a woman who'd normally shower and apply makeup before being seen by anybody. She'd regularly hum and sing, and her typical nature was positive and happy.

"Nothing," she stated flatly.

"They both look pretty black," I observed innocently.

"I don't know what happened."

It was the early 70's. There was little societal awareness of domestic violence beyond what nosy neighbors could decipher when a police cruiser pulled up in front of a neighbor's home. Same for child abuse. It's not that it wasn't happening; it just wasn't getting coverage by any news outlet.

Awareness of such things was generally beyond my comprehension. My blood surged with a daily supply of freshly minted hormones, and my mind was engaged in current girlfriends and those who might become such. I had no time to take notice of other people's concerns, even my mother's.

Until it escalated one time too many.

A few weeks prior to her two black eyes, I finally came to the realization that Chuck was hurting her in some way. Abusing her. That the arguments were not just two people yelling at each other any longer. This was a six-foot-three, two hundred fifty pound monstrosity tearing away at my one hundred twenty pound mother. But I had school, sports, friends, homework. Girls. I hoped it was a temporary thing.

Besides, when inhuman events occur, it's easy to wallow in a state of disbelief. I had heard of spousal abuse, but you always think it's a corner case and applies to other families in lower socioeconomic classes.

At first, I rationalized in my mind about the screams I'd heard. In fact, it was not even clear to me how two married people interacted since I was entirely unaware of how my dad and mom got along in the prior years.

One evening, however, the violence finally sucker-punched me. It may have taken my slow-acting brain a few months, but hearing your mother screaming behind closed doors thirty feet away eventually has an impact, even on testosterone-laced gray matter.

"Chuck, stop it!" she pleaded as he wrapped his large paws around her skull and pulled viciously at her hair. The screaming and moaning continued for a half hour.

My heart was pounding with anger, and my teenage mind went to work. "Wait. This is my mom he's hurting. I have to stop him. I've had enough. I don't care what she thinks, this needs to stop!"

I had decided to maim him, even kill him, as necessary. Whatever it took to stop him from further harming my mother.

My desperate mind quickly concocted a plan. My bedroom door was closed, but I was afraid to open it without a weapon in hand since I would need to walk past their bedroom where the abuse was happening. I knew if Chuck saw me right then, given our mutual disdain for each other, my life would be instantly in jeopardy as well as my mother's.

So I couldn't easily stride down the hallway and out to the storage room where I kept my baseball bat. I assessed that he couldn't react quickly enough to my swinging at his knees. Once he was kneecapped, my mother and I could both safely exit the house.