Da Capo al fine

Crecendo

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When I recall all the events that happened in my life, whether they be life altering in some way or not, I think it did in some way shape who I am. I could say that watching my mother work to clean the houses of ladies we never even met taught me to work hard. I could even say that I learned to stick up for myself when people assumed I was going to get pregnant and drop out of high school because of the labels and stereotypes that came with being a minority. But all this led to one certain event that I can honestly say changed in my life, and it took a hell of a lot of time to overpass. Like "most" children in America, I come from a "broken" family. Maybe not so broken as separated. To be more specific, divorced. Ah yes, the infamous word that manages to cut into a divorcee child's exterior to bring out old feelings of regret, remorse, sadness, etc. But my story is a little different. Well, maybe to me.

I was around the age of 11 when I even knew my parents were having problems. I woke one morning to screaming; to be precise, my mother screaming. At my father. I'll honestly tell you that waking up to something like this, while still in your parents bed, isn't the most pleasant thing on this planet. When I entered into the room where her screams were echoing off the walls, she stopped and looked me. Rage, regret, and sadness were in her gaze when she locked her line of sight onto mine.

"He's cheating on me! He's going to leave with the other woman! He's going to leave us for her! I read it!"

All while holding an old beat up nokia.

My first reaction. Cry.

I honestly thought I was sleeping. Waiting for an alarm to wake me up or my mom's favorite novela to be blaring from her TV in the early morning as she relaxed.

No. It wasn't a dream. It was reality slapping me in the face, with my mom continuing to scream profanities at my dad while he just stood there. Stood there and let her yell and watched me break down. Watched his little 11 year old daughter, break down into tears.

My brother woke from all the screaming and quickly caught on to what the situation was addressing. He was always levelheaded when he needed to be, but I don't think a 15 year old boy should've been the mediator in this situation.

When he somehow managed to calm us down, he took my parents into the other room to talk with them. Only now do I look back and realize that this was the beginning of my siblings lying to keep me "safe."

I threw myself on the floor, a blubbering mess of emotions, and I only ever remember crying to somebody, anybody "Please! Please don't let them get a divorce!! PLEASE!"

For some reason, that word immediately popped into my brain when everything fell through. I had unknowingly foreseen my family's future from just this one early Saturday morning.

I remember walking into my parent's room after everything had settled and my brother told me it was safe to go in. I only remember feeling uneasy, the tension in the rooming making me squirm and want to leave. They told me everything was alright and that everything was fine. But I don't remember looking at my dad or my brother. I stared at my mom. Because she looked so broken down, like someone sucked the life out of her as she stared into nothing. I wanted to hear her answer, because hers was the one that mattered most.

"It was just a dream, right mommy? None of it was true?"

Still staring at nothing, she answered, "Yeah, just a dream."

After this day came a whirlwind of emotions and events. My parents tried to stay together, separated, got back to together, and then separated to have the divorce finalized. Near the end, I just grew numb to it. My hopes had constantly been risen up that they would stay together and that we would continue being the lovable and always loud family we used to be. Not used to be, that we still were. Looking back, I could see absolutely nothing wrong with our family. Nothing wrong with my parents. Everything was going perfectly in my mind.