What We Create

Jessie, Chapter 1

I stood beside the door in our overly pink bathroom with my thumb pressed against the lock button, as my hand tightly gripped the handle. Dad, on the other side of the door, pounded his fists against it, and wrenched the door handle from side to side.

"I'm going to get in," he screamed.

His body slammed against the door. The sound, and vibration rattled through my thin 14-year-old frame. Based on past experience, I knew he would get a wire hanger, and try to pop out the button that locked the door. The door and lock offered little protection against the 220 pound, drunk, senseless man who was hell bent on getting to me. I couldn't and wouldn't even think about what he would do if he got in.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. I pulled my long, dark hair to the side, pressed my shoulder against the door, and planted my tennis shoe's firmly against the pink carpeting. I desperately wished for my brother Brian, but he wasn't home. Dad's fist hit the door again and another wave of stress, and the sensation that I might pee my pants burned through me.

"Stop acting insane! Stop this right now," Mom yelled. Their loud, arguing voices retreated down the hallway letting me know they were headed to their bedroom.

I wiped the sweaty palm of my free hand against my jeans. This was it. I took a deep breath, and turned the knob. The door opened soundlessly, and I sprinted toward the sliding glass door in the family room. I didn't look back as every second counted. My shoes were silent against the carpet as I rounded the corner to the family room. I was almost to the door when I heard him.

"Jessie!" He bellowed from the hallway.

Already at the door, I grabbed the handle, slid it open, and bounded into the night. The porch light highlighted my retreating figure for five seconds, and then I disappeared from sight.

By the time Dad made it to the sliding glass door, I hid a few houses away. I kneeled behind the bushes, on the balls of my feet. The brick wall of the house pressed into my back. I kept one hand in the dirt to steady myself. I could still see the house. If he did come looking, I would have plenty of time to run farther away.

Dad stepped onto the back porch, and peered into the darkness. "Jessie!" he yelled.

My mom slapped his shoulder. "The whole neighborhood hears you. Come in the house."

I cringed when Mom slapped him. The odds he would hit her back were very good, and that would mean I would run back to the house to defend her, again, which is how this whole night began.

Earlier in the evening, I stood in my room, and listened to their escalating voices coming from their bedroom. I stood so I would be ready to run. Mom's angry voice cut off mid-word, and grunts followed. All the blood rushed to my head. I ran across the hall, and slammed their door open.

Dad pinned Mom to the bed, and choked her. Mom, red-faced, kicked her legs uselessly against his. Propelled by adrenaline, I steam-rolled into Dad's back, and pushed him off of her with all of my weight. He fell on the other side of the bed, and I slammed into their dresser. With no time to stop, I pushed off the dresser, and scrambled to the bathroom. The only door in the house where I could lock him out. His anger would turn toward me now. Somehow that seemed better.

My mind came back to my present location, still kneeling in the dirt. God, I'm so tired of his. I sighed, leaned back, and sat on the ground. Now, I would wait until he passed out so I could return home. I dimmed the light on my phone so no one would notice me. Thank God warm weather stayed until late fall. For a while, I just stared straight ahead, my mind blank. My butt grew numb from sitting on the hard ground. Sometime later, my phone dinged with a message from Mom: Come back home, he's asleep.

I didn't acknowledge the message, but headed toward our house. Quietly, I crept up to their bedroom window, placed my hands lightly against the brick, and listened.

The familiar sound of my dad's snoring greeted me. Some of the tension drained from my body. Mom stood by the sliding glass door waiting for me.

"I'm sorry. Are you okay?" Mom said. Her stress lined face, and pressed together lips made her look older than her years. She clasped, and unclasped her hands in perpetual motion

"Whatever, Mom. Nothing changes, so don't talk to me." She didn't say anything else. I grabbed my blanket, and pillow off my bed. My bed on the bathroom floor wasn't comfy, but at least I would have some protection from my father. I was always afraid of the other shoe, full of terrible things, waiting in the air, ready to drop.

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