How We Changed
The years before my father had left were happy ones. My parents and I were relatively healthy and we had enough money to keep us going. We were content. But good things don't last forever. Back then we had thought nothing could go wrong, our lives were too perfect, God would not be so cruel. We could not have been more mislead.
It all started that dark, forbidding night; on January 5, just a few days after New Years. I was tucked snuggly into bed, the covers pulled up over my head. I struggled to fall asleep, but to no avail. My mother had put me to bed that night, a task my dad usually undertook. But tonight, he was absent, visiting a friend my mother said. Except I knew that wasn't true. Seeing the lie in my mom's eyes, the worry and fear that she had attempted to hide from me, I knew something was wrong. Dad had skipped dinner, an event he relished. He rarely was late to dinner; much less had he missed it. My mother and I ate dinner in silence, picking at our food and drawing out the evening meal as long as possible, hoping Dad would come through the door and make up some excuse; making us feel silly that we had worried in the first place. Yet no such thing happened, the door stayed closed long after we had cleaned our plates and my father still did not appear. I felt my mother's anguish along with my own when the digital clock changed to 12:00 pm. Mom assured me he would be home by 1 o' clock, but the time came and went. By two he had still not appeared and my mom was contemplating calling the police to search for him. She soon sent me to bed, reasoning I would be too tired to get up for school in the morning.
I hardly slept. It was almost five in the morning when I finally heard the slam of the car door, the sound of the sliding glass door opening, the pound of footsteps as my dad entered the house. I burrowed farther under the soft blankets like a mouse. I hid, like I always do. This time, the satin covers could not stop me from hearing the yells that filled the air, echoing throughout the house. A cold chill washed over me as my mom's normally calm voice rose to a scream. My father's deep response vibrated in my ears. I could not make out what they were saying, but they were fighting, something they had not done- ever. This scared me, and I began to doubt both my parents. I had always thought them to be perfect, and this was like a slap in the face. My safe, good vision of the world was ruined, revealing how harsh life can be. I heard a slap and my mom's gasp of pain. My stomach tightened as I attempted to envision what had occurred between them. But I could not. I had only ever seen my parents embracing. Hugging each other and laughing, eyes twinkling as they looked into each other's eyes. During those times it had been like I had never existed, like they were in their own little world.
However, the moments that occurred more and more repeatedly were none to happy. Long silences were more frequent at the dinner table and my parents had taken to driving in separate cars. I had a hard time understanding what was going on, but I dealt with it as best I could. I don't think they understood how hard it was for me. Both of them tried to keep me happy, but they had their own problems. I was on my own.
Being the only child was difficult and I didn't have as many friends as I hoped. Yet the few friends I did acquire I kept close to me. I told them everything, but not this; I couldn't bear to confess to them how my father had begun to treat my mother. I couldn't open myself up like that, make myself vulnerable. Soon I became closed to the world. I withdrew into myself, brooding over the events I had witnessed. My parents hardly noticed, and if the did, they blamed it on something else. However, they were the problem.
Then came the day when they forced me to choose. It wasn't working out they said. They weren't meant for each other they claimed. All I wanted to do was scream at them to make it work. I was tired of running away, tired of hiding under my shell like a turtle. But couldn't stand up to them, no matter how much I wanted to.
Not even ten months after that fateful night, my father and mother divorced, leaving me feeling alone and unhappy. I decided to stay with my mom for the time being, visiting my dad on weekends. My life began to take a turn for the better then. No more fights, the nights were silent. Over the years, I had learned to appreciate the things that I do have. Although as my mom and I grew closer, my father was more distant to me. Perhaps the fact that my parents had divorced could be a good thing for all of us.