Madrugada

Jared's Birthday

They're yelling again. Loud, obnoxious, whining over who wronged them this time. My parents are children. I'm sitting at the dining room table, my teeth gritted and my heart beating loudly in my chest. Half-eaten cake sits placidly by my computer, and the voices ring out from the kitchen with no door to separate the two.

"Yeah. Happy birthday to me," My brother stands up, phone in hand, and walks out of the room. I roll my eyes. "Not everything is about you, Jared, Jesus Christ," I say and my lip sneers unintentionally. I make a move to be upright, slamming my laptop shut, but by then he's crossed into the living room, the swearing slightly more audible this time.

"So you're leaving?" my mother asks me as I storm into the kitchen. My face is tight as I say, "Yep!" with as much ferocity as you can in a slang word.

"It must be nice to just be able to leave," my mom says, but there's no wistfulness in her voice. She struggles to stand in her walker, so much so that it feels like it's done on purpose just to make her point even clearer. I know she's young and she shouldn't have to own one, but chronic illness does that to a person. I suck in a breath and purse my lips while my father whispers, "Jesus Christ, Lauren," under his breath and leans into the doorframe by the bathroom. "Can you just lay off for one second? One second?" His brown eyes, just like mine, are narrowed. Razor sharp.

"I wasn't talking to you, Frank," she growls, and now I'm throwing on my pink flip-flops like it's a race to see who can leave the room first.

"I don't give a shit who you were talking to," the deadliness in my voice scares me. I slide my left shoe on. "You two need to grow up and start acting like adults. I shouldn't have to be stuck here, in the other room, listening to you argue. You drag me into your mess and get mad at me when I try to leave."

"No, Mallory, that's not what's happening. This has nothing to do with you." My father turns on me. But at this point, I expect it.

"It is when you don't even give a fuck enough about your own kids to leave them out of your fighting, Dad! It's Jared's birthday!" I snap back. "And you decide to fight for several hours instead! Like we do every weekend!" My eyes are burning and I can't face their wide eyes and arched eyebrows as I grab my phone on the table, rubbing the case slightly in some pathetic attempt at comfort. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back soon."

"Yep. Great. Get out while you can," says my mom. She is baring her front teeth, but I know it's not for me. She's upset that she can't leave. She's mad that she's trapped. But I'm not about to defend her. There's a scream building up inside me and if I don't leave now, it will not cease.

I let the door slam behind me and stumble down the back stairs. It's warm out, and the sun has already almost set - briefly, my lips part, and the tears stop wanting to flow. Cicadas buzz in the walnut tree next door, a black silhouette against orange and purple. To the east, a full moon is rising. It calms me for a moment until I hear my mother's voice begins to rise as she crescendos into a shouting match with my father.

I walk fast down the driveway. The neighbors across the street stare me down, wondering what the girl in the yellow dress is doing walking so brusquely, her hands balled into fists. I wonder if I'm radiating anger. I wonder if they can hear my parents fighting and the loud music floating down from my brother's room on the second floor, the lights on in the rooms where my family quietly wage their battles.

My pace quickens. I take off my shoes to feel the hard cement under my toes. I'm breathing too harshly and now there's a tear dripping down my face and then fuck it, I'm taking off my shoes. With my flip flops in one hand and my phone in the other, I run.

I run down the block. I run up the hill. I sprint pass the house my friend used to live in as a kid when we could still call each other neighbors - no one is here to save me, hold me while I cry. It's just me and the moon and the motion of my yellow dress catching between my legs, flowing behind me while my hair unfolds like a flag. I run until my breath is ragged and the only tears are from the wind in my face. I think I'm trying to feel numb. But if there's something I can't do, it's that. I feel everything, too much, too often. And now, I feel like I'm about to pass out.

My yellow dress is tear-stained as I slow. The flip flops come back on when I sit on the curb, and I'm crying now. I'm crying so much that I hold my head in my hands and just try to silence myself. Everyone on this street probably thinks I'm fucking insane.

It's Jared's birthday. I thought it would be different today, since we had been out driving to the beach and not at home. We'd even been laughing at one point. I had hoped just maybe there would be a break, but it's just another weekend night where I end up shattering, my brother shuts himself off from the world, and my parents yell all the way into the night and then into next week and beyond. I'll walk home and pretend everything is fine in my head. Like I'm not hurting and scared. It's just a Sunday evening routine, it's not special, and as I wipe tears away from my eyes, I'm starting to wonder if even birthdays can't be a break from this.