A child called it but WHY!!!

1- The Rescue

Addie's POV

March 5, 2017, Daly City, California  –  I'm  late.  I've got to finish the dishes on time, otherwise no breakfast; and since I didn't have dinner last night, I have  to make sure I get something to eat. Mother's running around yelling at my brothers. I can hear her stomping down the hallway towards the kitchen. I dip my hands back into the scalding rinse water. It's too late. She catches me with my hands out of the wat er.

SMACK! Mother hits me in the face, and I topple to the floor. I know better than to stand there and take the hit. I learned the hard way that she takes that as an act of defiance, which means more hits, or worst of all, no food. I regain my posture and dodge her looks, as she screams into my ears.

I act timid, nodding to her threats. "Please,"  I say to myself, "just let me eat. Hit me again, but I have to have food." Another blow pushed my head against the tile counter top. I let the tears of mock defeat stream down my face as she storms out of the kitchen, seemingly satisfied with herself. After I count her steps, making sure she's gone, I breathe a sigh of relief. The act worked. Mother can beat me all she wants, but I haven't let her take away my will to somehow survive.

I finish the dishes, then my other chores. For my reward I receive breakfast  – leftovers from one of my brothers' cereal bowls. Today it's Lucky Charms. There are only a few bits of cereal left in a half of a bowl of milk, but as quick ly as I can, I swallow it before Mother changes her mind. She has done that before. Mother enjoys using food as her weapon. She knows better than to throw leftovers in the garbage can. She knows I'll dig it out later. Mother knows most of my tricks.

Minutes later  I'm  in the old family station wagon. Because I'm  so late with my chores, I have to be driven to school.

Usually I run to school, arriving just as class begins, with no time to steal any food from other kids' lunch boxes.

Mother drops my oldest brother off, but keeps me for a lecture about her plans for me tomorrow. She is going to take me to her brother's house. She says Uncle Dan will "take care of me." She makes it a threat. I give her a frightened look as if I am truly afraid.  But I know that even though my uncle is a hardnosed man, he surely won't treat me like Mother does.

Before the station wagon comes to a complete stop, I dash out of the car. Mother yells for me to return. I have forgotten my crumpled lunch bag, which has always had the same  menu for the last three years  – two peanut butter sandwiches and a few carrot sticks. Before I bolt out of the car again, she says, "Tell 'em ... Tell 'em you ran into the door." Then in a voice she rarely uses with me, she states, "Have a nice day." I look  into her swollen red eyes. She still has a hangover from last night's stupor. Her once beautiful, shiny black hair is now frazzled clumps. As usual, she wears no makeup. She is overweight, and she knows it. In all, this has become Mother's typical look.

Be cause I am so late, I have to report to the administrative office. The grayhaired secretary greets me with a smile. Moments later, the school nurse comes out and leads me into her office, where we go through the normal routine. First, she examines my face and arms. "What's that above your eye?" she asks.

I nod sheepishly, "Oh, I ran into the hall door ... by accident."

Again she smiles and takes a clipboard from the top of a cabinet. She flips through a page or two, then bends down to show me. "Here," she points to the paper, "You said that last Monday. Remember?"

I quickly change my story, "I was playing softball and got hit by the bat. It was an accident." Accident. I am always supposed to say that. But the nurse knows better. She scolds me so I'll tell the  truth. I always break down in the end and confess, even though I feel I should protect my mother.