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Janelle's Story

Janelle's memory

I can vaguely hear my mom and my sister's Kim's voice through the door of the closet where I sit with my knees to my chest obeying my mom's wishes. My mom sounds like she's on her third drink, maybe fourth as she yaps away to Kim who for some reason is always happy when there is nothing to be happy about. Well for me, she doesn't live at home with mom and instead has a dog and her own apartment. A life some other 26 year olds would beg for.

"I swear Kim that girl is sixteen and she is still crazy always crying, screaming, just like Ms. Jubilee down the street, I think she's been stealing my wine coolers," mom goes on. She's definitely on drink three. Drink three is when she begins bashing me and my existence, something that isn't that bad compared to my dad.

Kim begins to speak in her uber happy tone. "You know mom, she might be mentally ill."

I shake hearing mom's words, but stop when I remember my mom's words telling me not to move.

Mom lets out one of her long annoying laughs that make her throat dry thus leading her to drink more. "Mentally ill is some bullshit Kim that gets those entitled assholes an excuse to commit crimes." I can just see her shaking her head. "Huh, mentally ill, ain't that some shit." Now she's drinking again, I can't see it, but I know her, and I know the routine. She's about to say something else, but stops when the door creaks. Not the door I'm behind, but the front door meaning dad is home and this day is about to get a lot worse.

I stuff my face more into my knees as if that will make dad go back to his job at that dusty grocery store. It won't. I hear his loud steps and the way he's bringing mom into that tequila tasting kiss she treasures so much.

"Where's Janelle?" he asks and a moment of silence follows.

Mom's glass clicks on the amber table and she says louder than she has been talking this whole hour, "In the closet, she's been acting up again, Stephen, she's lucky I didn't smack her across her head." The feeling of the last time she hit me comes back the second I hear those words.

"Calm down, I'll talk to her," dad says, but only because he needs her to be calm so he can release all of his anger.

His steps become louder and louder until the closet door creaks open to reveal my dad towering over me still in his uniform still smelling like the whole frozen food section. "What are you doing sitting here crying, get up," he hisses.

I don't hesitate and do as he says knowing it will only get worse the more I don't do what he says. This is part of the routine. I follow him into his bedroom where he immediately starts pacing with his hand to his forehead telling me he's getting more angry by the second. Usually I begin crying after moments like these, but tears are now spilling down my face as if I'm trying to make things worse for myself.

"You better stop fucking crying," he hisses only looking out me from the side of his eye. Still his words just make my eyes water more. "You think you're just going to act up, and cry talking about all this 'you want to kill yourself BS, you're sixteen, stop acting like a child." He finally turns to look at me, but I wish he kept looking at the tv. I hate when he looks at me like this. I hate not being able to stop making him look at me like this.

"I'm sorry daddy," I whine standing in the same place of the doorway.

"Sorry is not going to cut it Janelle. We've been trying to put up with you and this whole thing you've got going on for your whole life. I'm exhausted, your mother is exhausted, and we need to live our lives we can't keep worrying about you, and if you're sad today." While I expect these lectures after my outburst this is different, this sounds like they're giving up on me.