The Middle Man

February 5th

The easiest thing I've ever had to do in my life probably should have been the hardest thing. I was twelve and my dad was the cubmaster. He was yelling and screaming about glue for Pinewood Derby cars; yelling and screaming and banging on the table, making all the little plastic wheels and miniature axles rattle and shake. He wasn't an alcoholic, but his beer belly shook from his movements; his beady eyes screwed up in fury; his lips thinned out; his grungy, graying beard, and receding hairline, completing the picture.

"WHERE IS IT?! I CAN'T FIND IT! WHERE DID YOU PUT IT MARIE?!" He yelled at my mom, who was visibly tired, worn down, and exhausted, because it was far from the first time this had happened.

"I didn't touch it Alan." She sighed, pushing her hair behind her ear, "Go check the garage." And so he stormed out, and the house's contents didn't move for a full two minutes. Then, he was back. I heard him before I saw him, like always: the door slammed shut, and every knick-knack in the house rattled in it's place. Picture frames swung on the walls. The cross necklace on the back door swung side-to-side. I looked at my brothers; I looked at my mom; I looked at the beast who had returned to the house.

"IT'S NOT THERE MARIE," He yelled again, hissing at her, "WHERE DID YOU PUT IT?" He leaned toward her, mere centimeters away from her face, breathing heavy and angry.

"I told you Alan, I didn't touch it." My mom crossed from the dining room into the living room, her footsteps barely audible. My dad followed her, and once again, the house rattled as he stormed over. He picked up a large vase from the floor, a pale green my grand uncle had painted, adorned with pink and yellow flowers with dark green stems. Grasping it tightly he brought it up above his head and threw it to the floor, ceramic shards the size of my hand flying every which way. I jumped back, as did Matt and Tom, to avoid being hit. "WHERE IS IT MARIE?!" He bellowed, his eyes alight with an anger I'd never seen before. He whipped around, searching the dining room table again, as if the bottle of glue would suddenly appear. It did not. Instead, his hands closed around a plastic tape dispenser, which shattered when he threw it. Then, he lunged at my mom.

From our position in the dining room; Matt, Tom, and I saw everything: the fear in our mom's eyes, the fury in our dad's; his arms forcefully trying to bring her towards him and my mom's, desperately trying to push him away. I was standing on the brink of the dining room and the living room. Standing on the brink of what should I do? Because this, this had never happened before.

He gave up soon after, and left once again, slamming the door and shaking everything in the house. He drove off, cooled off, and picked up my brothers to go to a movie with the other scouts in their den. I chose to stay home, with my mom.

She leaned against my grandma's cabinet, a cornflower blue with pale yellow drawers, pretty floral designs painted on, and little blue knobs. "What should I do Nicole?" Her question should have been rhetorical, as a twelve-year-old should not be able to answer such a question, but I did so anyway.

"Call the cops," I said simply, "There's nothing else you can do." And so, she did. They arrived soon after and I gave my account. She filed a restraining order and my aunt came to pick me up while my mom filled out paperwork. Before we left, my aunt pulled me aside in the kitchen.

"Nicole," She stressed, reaching into her purse, "I need you to use this if anything like this ever happens again." She handed me a small aerosol bottle of pepper spray, "I have your mother one too, but as the oldest, you should have one too- just in case." Soon after, we were driving away. My dad called me later, when I was at a Thai Restaurant with my cousin, getting takeout, and I didn't pick up. I didn't; couldn't; by the law was not allowed to; talk to him for another 2 weeks.

This would happen another 2 times in the next year or so. Between cigarettes held to her eye, cursing, and insults; between broken cabinets and chairs, torn papers and shattered glasses; between a rendered unusable Garmin GPS and burned photos, my mom remained strong. It was a long process, but eventually all the papers and appointments paid off for my mom, and the divorce was finalized. He was out of our life, out of her life, out of my life.

At first I saw him on weekends. I didn't particularly want to, but it was mandatory and if I didn't, he'd bring my mom to court. I didn't want that for her. Eventually however, I stopped seeing him. It was almost ten at night, and I'd called him to say that I would be over the next morning instead of that night, because an afterschool activity had taken too long. He didn't give me a chance to finish and had hung up, furious with me, after I had said "I'm too tired to-" furious with me because I had had the mere audacity to make plans on his weekend, furious that I'd even thought of having a life of my own. Not long after, he called a family meeting at TGIFs, in which he'd cursed at me, loudly, and complete and happy families saw the dysfunctional picture we were. I stopped seeing him for good after that. Surprisingly, he didn't drag my mom to court at first, it wasn't till over a year later that he made any remark at the illegality of not seeing him. He told my mom he'd press kidnapping charges if I didn't go with him. My mom leaned against the car, as we stood in our driveway because he was no longer allowed in side, by the law, asked me what she should do. It was another rhetorical question, and a question a fifteen-year-old shouldn't be able to answer, but I did do anyway. I told her to explain to the police before he could, to go straight to them because it was more than we could handle. And so she did.

Things never quite go away. You can shove them to the back of your mind, you can restrain them by law, you can attempt to avoid them for the rest of your days, but evil is always out there. You just have to be strong enough to face it. And if you're strong enough, the hardest things to do, can become the easiest thing.