To Anyone Listening

The Accident

 I was four years old. Just old enough to form sentences, comprehend conversation, and start to form opinions of my own. I sat in the back seat of our family's green van. The interior was a bit worn down and the seats were made of tan velvet-like cloth. Sometimes I would draw my name into the seat using my index finger. If I used the palm of my hand and ran it with the grain of the cloth, I could use my fingers to make marks going against the grain. After what seemed like days on end in that van, things like this were what kept my mind entertained.

It was dark out, my older and younger brother were both dozing off as we got closer to the house. I don't remember where we went on that particular trip, but I know it felt like we were in that van for hours and hours. Mom and Dad were in the front of the car- Dad driving and Mom in the passenger seat. I could hear them talking but couldn't quite make out what they were saying. I yawned, stretched my arms and legs as best I could from the seat, and made my body as tall as I could so that I could peek out the window to my right.

Lights from the side of the road flashed past our little van. I pushed my nose up against the cold window and followed each passing lamp post with my eyes. 1... 2... 3... 4... I quickly became bored and remembered how badly I still needed to use a restroom. I glanced out my window again to see if anything looked familiar enough to evaluate how much longer it would be until we arrived home. Nothing looked familiar and I didn't know how much longer we would spend driving, so I called up to Dad.

"Daddy? I really gotta go... I don't know how much longer I can hold it."

I noticed I had interrupted my parents' conversation and immediately felt my cheeks get hot. I hoped I wouldn't get in trouble. Dad looked at me through his rearview mirror.

"You can wait, we'll be home in half an hour or so."

His voice was firm; unwavering. My dad scared me. He was a giant to my little three-and-a-half-foot self. His face was always stern, unforgiving at times almost. His hair was brown like my own and his eyebrows were furrowed at me more often than not. It was rare I saw him smile at me the way a dad should smile at his daughter, and I can hardly remember a time his laugh was not filled with mockery.

My heart sank when I heard those words met with his tired eyes in the mirror. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold it. A debate arose in my head, I didn't know if I should risk "talking back" to insist on my urgency, or try my hardest to hold it in. I sat there, anxiety filling up my chest. I knew what would happen if I chose to speak up to him, so just in case I could in fact hold on until we made it home, I chose to remain silent and focused on being obedient.

Minutes passed and time seemed to be going slower and slower. I kept leaning towards the middle of the back row of seats to check the time. Holding my bladder became a challenge and we still had a ways to go before we reached home. My head felt like it was getting hotter and my stomach, queasier. My legs began to shake and the urge to cry, crawled into the back of my throat, which I choked back out of fear; I was frequently scolded, and sometimes spanked, for crying. The seat beneath me suddenly grew wet and shame flooded my body. I could not resist the tears that poured down my cheeks. My whole body was overtaken by guilt and anxiety. My mind froze with panic. I didn't want to want to face my father's anger after I broke the news to him. So I sat there, silently crying in terror of the wrath I was destined to face.

My little body, which shook violently, suddenly became still the second my father's eyes landed on my own and a boulder plunged my insides downward.

"Shaela Dawn did you just piss yourself?!"

I cried out in fear, "It was an accident! I didn't mean to!" Which was true. I had tried my hardest to follow my father's instructions and wait until we arrived home, but to my four-year-old self, our arrival home seemed so far away. I was just as disappointed in myself as my father was in me.