I remember the smell of dinner being cooked. The smell of instant eggs and bacon, the third time having this meal this week. My sister and I sure loved them. Mother was going off. Cussing about various things. Fuck the smell of the eggs. Fuck the landlord for trying to kick us out for the fifth time in six months. Fuck my father for being the whole ass. Because he just wasn't an asshole my mother said, he was the whole ass.
She had a lot to say about father. They acted like they hated each other most days. Was this how parents acted?
As my sister and I play with the collection of stuffed animals we had, we heard the door slam. That meant father was home. This could be a good or bad thing. Sometimes father was sweet and giving, bringing home unicorns and candy bars for my sister and I. We loved that side of father. But he didn't come often.
Fathers temper was a ticking time bomb. It could be minutes or it could be seconds before it exploded. And it was damaging. His words were like hand grenades being thrown at us. Not physically, but emotionally. How do you fix an emotional bruise ? You don't. And we all had emotional bruises covering our bodies.
My sister and I walk into the petite living room we had which contained one sofa that was given to us. Nothing else except garbage littering the floor. There was father in the doorway. He didn't have gifts or candy. The only thing father had was clenched fists and a face full of anger. My mother instantly starts screaming . Cussing. My sister and I always stayed away during times like these. We were each other's keepers.
We watched as mother and father were at each other's throats again. They were loud. They were ruthless. My mother screamed about drugs. I don't know what she was more angry about, my father being high or my father not sharing. Either way, it was escalating.
My sister and I watched intently, as we were waiting to see if it got physical again. And it did. In the blur of the moment they were brawling in the kitchen.
My mother screaming "Don't fucking touch me or I'll call the cops!"
And my father coming back with "You aren't calling anyone!".
My sister and I had a plan for times like this. We would run to our kind neighbor, Sarah, who would call for help. I grabbed my stuffed gorilla and my sisters hand and we ran out the door to Sarah. I knocked on the door and she looked at us with pained eyes and pulled us in. My sister is hysterically crying. I am crying as well, but I had to be strong for the both of us. I let Sarah know what's going on and she grabs her home phone and called the police.
"Hello Officer, It's Sarah . They are at it again!"
I don't exactly hear what the officer is saying my Sarah is pacing the floor.
"Can you just send somebody over to calm them down?"
She's hugging my sister and I. She covers the speaker and says :
"It's going to be okay, help is coming."
She wipes our tears and continues on the phone with the police.
"Yes, I have the girls in my apartment, they are safe. Thank you , bye."
She hung up the phone and sat it down on her table. We then hear the screaming get louder and my heart is pounding again. My sister has not stopped crying. We are holding each other. Sarah gets up and makes her way to the door, I follow. As she opens the door, I see my mother and father outside fighting. Father is shaking mother senseless. Mother is trying to fight back but father is much bigger and much stronger. I hear the sirens down the road and a sense of relief starts to come over me. Help will be here soon.
Father notices the sirens and starts cussing about the cops. Blaming my mother, even though Sarah is the one that called them. He looks over at us. Sarah is begging him to stop. I look in his eyes . His pupils are dilated and his eyes are bloodshot. The veins in his face are bulging out. He is red. Blood red. His fist are tightly wrapped around my mothers arms. He leans her over the railing outside our second story apartment. My mother yelps and squirms but my fathers grip is too tight . She isn't moving. My father looks over, tilts his head as he locks eyes with me and says in the most unrelenting and malevolent voice :
"Your mother is going to die tonight."
I'm screaming as I'm trying to jump out to somehow help my mother as he is trying to push her over the railing. My mother is kicking and screaming. Begging him to stop. That's my mother! My mommy! Don't hurt my mother. I'm helpless. I am a 6 year old girl watching my mother in a near fatal experience and I am helpless. Sarah is screaming. My sister is still at the table shaking and screaming.
In that instant as my father almost pushes my mother over the railing, help arrives. They are pointing at a gun at my father. There are 3 of them this time. Their sirens blaring throughout the entire apartment complex and red and blue lights creating a sense of relief in my heart.
"Kevin, let her go!"
My father yelps as an officer tackles him. My mother runs to my sister and I. She thanks Sarah and hugs me. My sister runs up and hugs my mother as well.
"I'm so sorry girls. This won't happen again pumpkins! This is the last time!"
My mother reassures us everything is over before the cops come and separate us all.
Normal procedure. Ask us the same questions at they do every time this occurs.
"What did you see?"
"Who started the fight?"
"Did anyone hurt you?"
"Are you okay?"
I saw my mother and father fight. My father started the physical fight. No one hurt us. Am I okay? I would say yes. Was I really okay? No. Like a plate being dropped on the floor but only from a Short distance, I was cracked. Not fully broken, just cracked.
My mother tells the officer she is choosing to press charges and proceeds to promise a restraining order against my father.
I watched as my father got taken in handcuffs down the stairs and we retreated back to our apartment. My mother would cry herself to sleep tonight. My sister and I would comfort her the best we could. How are we to fix our broken mother? We don't know how. We're only children. We are going through this pain and suffering with my mother.
It will be a somewhat peaceful night. No screaming. The only noise we will hear is the sound of my mothers muffled voice talking to herself. Having to reassure herself that everything will be okay. Because she is already broken.
