I sat on my bed. Curled up in a ball. Stroking the hair of my companion, the Tipsy Doll. I purposely dimmed the lights down so I could only see the light from the hall that was trying to escape from the tense atmosphere outside and into my room. I had tears rolling down my cheek. One by one they fell onto my shirt. I guess by then the salty droplets coming from my eyes already soaked my t-shirt. But I didn't care. The only thing I wanted to do was to disappear from that house. I didn't want to hear the screaming anymore. The streaking voice of my mom was so annoying. The only thing she knows how to do is blame my father for every little thing that happens to her. Silence. I thought to myself, "What had just happened? My house is rarely that quiet." Smack. Then I heard something falling onto the glass kitchen table. That was all I heard until I decided to go to sleep.
This used to happen every weekend. My father would come home from a long day of work, my mother would get herself drunk and another cycle of the screaming, shouting, kicking, and smacking game would start. This game only started when I was in my third year of elementary school. At first I thought that it was nothing; so I ignored it. They never came to me. They would always tell me to go to my room and ended everything downstairs before coming upstairs to take a shower and go to sleep. But on that particular night…
I fell asleep after I heard the crash. Usually the scream fights progresses into picking-up-whatever-you-see-and-throw-it-at-each-other. So I thought that it was just another vase thrown at each other. I always felt sorry for the objects because they usually tend to dent or break. I used to think, "I feel sorry for you guys, you have such a short life span, and maybe in the next life I would be able to see you again." To think back on it… boy, was I naïve. I was in a deep sleep when I felt someone pick me up and carry me over to the car. I heard the old engine roar and I felt the wind speed through my hair. I didn't care where we were going, all I wanted was a good nights sleep.
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Beep. Beep. Beep. This was the sound of the alarm clock coming from my grandparents' room. I always loved this sound. Beep. Beep. Beep. It was so rhythmic and musical. I woke up to see my dad sleeping beside me. I rolled over and expected to see my mom but when I looked, I saw no mommy. It was empty.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The door opened and I saw my grandmother walk through the door. She had white hair grown down to her tailbone. It was so soft and silky. I remember playing with it. We would sit on her swing, which was located under the big oak tree in her backyard, and we would rock back and forth, back and forth. She would tell me stories about the medieval times where a prince would rescue a princess from a dragon. I would lean back onto my grandmother's broad chest and use her hair as a blanket. As soon as the dragon kidnapped the princess I would somehow, no wait, more like magically go to sleep. It was not because the story was boring; it was more like I felt secure and felt like sleeping.
My grandmother came over to my side of the bed and whispered into my ear, "Wake up, my sunshine. I made your favorite, pancakes and Granny's special chocolate milk." I opened my eyes and I saw an older version of my mother represented in front of me. My grandmother and my mother resembled a lot to each other. They were both so soft and caring; until my mother started drinking that is. They both had hazel green eyes that made me feel like I could look into it for an eternity. They had thin lips and all I can remember of my mother was that she told great stories, maybe even better than my grandmother.
My grandmother led me to the bathroom and said she was going to get the breakfast ready. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, but I wanted to look good for my grandmother. So I took the ribbon off of Tipsy's hair and used it to make a ponytail on mine. I skipped down the stairs and into the kitchen.
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I saw nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing…
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I woke up three months later after being attacked by my mother. She had sneaked in from the back door. My mother fell onto the coffee table before my father brought us to my grandparents' house for refugee. My mother became more violent and threatened to hurt me if my father didn't give her money for more "booze". My father finally decided to leave when he couldn't take this shit anymore.
My mother had hit him in the head with a baseball bat and kicked him in the stomach repeatedly. When my father finally got up from the big blow, he hit my mother across the face. Then my mother fell onto the table and fainted. She woke up and decided to find us. When she found us at our grandparents' house, she welcomed her self in and knocked my grandmother out before attacking me. She took the mop and swung it towards my grandmother's ribs then she took a knife and slashed it down my back. My father and grandfather heard the commotion and ran downstairs to see what had happened. My father took the rifle from the cupboard. He shot the rifle and it hit my mother's right shoulder. She fell to the floor while my grandfather called the police.
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My mother was sent to prison to get rehab treatment. My grandmother woke up two days later with a broken rib. I fell into a coma and woke up three months later.
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I am currently seventeen years old and I still have nightmares about my mother. Her eyes were all over the place. It seemed like she was looking for something; she looked hungry for more, but what? Nevertheless she was drooling uncontrollably and the veins around her neck were popping out like spikes. She was growling at me. Her hair was all over the place. Her face was worn out. She looked like she was lost. She looked like a monster. Nightmares.