by Nicole Hart
Today was a rare day off for Mama, and I could tell by the looks of the house that she had spent the day cleaning, even though she was taking a nap when we got home from school. Between working so many hours and pacing the floors throughout the night, waiting for him, she needed the rest, so we made sure to keep quiet as to not disturb her.
I finished the last of my social studies’ homework and put my worksheet back in my binder just as Mama emerged into the living room.
“Hey, Mama, did you have a good nap?” I stacked my books on the wooden coffee table, studying her face instead of the words in front of me.
“It was good.” The dark circles under her eyes told another story while her feet shuffled heavily along the wooden floor. The sadness lining her face was obvious. I wished she hated him as much as I did.
Maybe if she knew everything, she would.
Or maybe not.
Later that night as I stared at the ceiling, trying to will myself to sleep, I couldn’t shake the knot that thrashed around in my gut. Sara slept like a log beside me, as usual. I envied the way her mind had the ability to shut off and let go of the day. It didn’t matter how young I was, I’d always felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. And it made me angry—I wanted to be carefree like the other kids I knew. I wanted to go to birthday parties and have sleepovers. I never understood why we lived the way we did and found it very unfair.
Just a few moments later, the reminder for my anxiety pulled down the gravel driveway, and the squeaking sound of bad brakes resonated outside my window. A sinking feeling washed over me, knowing our temporary peace had come to a grinding halt.
God, please let him just go to sleep. Please.
I worried the thoughts I sent to the sky would fall on deaf ears, but I had to try. Prayer was the only hope I had.
My body jumped with the bang of the slamming side door. And I knew then, yet another prayer had gone unanswered. Muffled voices crept down the hall and through the thin walls starting in their bedroom before moving further away to the living room. The rickety box fan I turned on each night—usually just to drown out the sounds I didn’t want to hear—prevented me from understanding exactly what was said. But even without the context, the tone was clear. He’d come back in a horrible mood, and Mama was the target of his anger. Nothing Duane did made sense—she should be the angry one. He was the asshole who took off on his wife for weeks at a time, but somehow, it was always her fault. I wished she’d stand up to him. Or someone would, anyway. I convinced myself he was this way because no one had ever made him act differently; no one had challenged his behavior—no one had ever called his bluff.
My mother begged through the walls. I’d heard her cries more times than I could count, but this was different. At the sound of her ignored pleas, bile rose in my stomach, burning my throat on its way to my mouth. I pressed my palms over my ears, trying to shield myself from whatever came next. No scuffles came from the other side of my door, and I hadn’t heard anything break, but the deafening scream that suddenly erupted from Mama’s throat pierced my ears. My hands had done nothing to diminish the sounds or hide the pain.
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks, and my body trembled as the cries continued. I had no idea what he did to her, but whatever it was had been torture. I wanted to intervene, to stand up to him in her protection, straighten my spine and steel my backbone—but I was afraid and intimidated and weak. I wanted to help her, but I didn’t. Instead, I eased out of bed and quietly pulled my boots on. The echoes of anguish still reverberated through the paper-thin walls, and the evidence of my mama’s abuse could be heard outside the house. My body shook uncontrollably at my inability to help her. But I couldn’t listen for another second, I couldn’t hear another word. I knew I should stay here, but I couldn’t.
I had to get away.
I had to escape the horrific sounds.
I gave Sara a quick glance, but she was still sound asleep. Then I opened the window and slid out as fast as my body allowed. The moment my boots hit the ground, I ran. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing. But I had to escape. My legs led me into the woods, and my feet automatically took me to Jackson’s shed—my safe haven. I didn’t need a flashlight; I knew the way like the back of my hand.
But as I drew near, a flicker of light from inside caught my attention. The only other people who knew about this place were Jackson and Danny, and right now, finding either of them here would be fine with me. And even if part of me wanted to be alone, escaping her cries with their conversation would be a welcome reprieve. Being away from the torture chamber was by far the most important thing.
I flung myself through the makeshift door and fell to my knees before I even looked to see who I shared the space with. I crashed forward, my hands resting on the cold ground, and the urge to vomit consumed me. I heaved my empty stomach into the crisp, night air, but the only thing that passed my lips was the fog of my hot breath meeting the cold. I lost myself in the sea of deprecating tears, unable to stop the deluge. And though I couldn’t hear her sobs from here, the sound of my mama’s pain burned into my mind like a backdraft. I’d never escape them no matter how deep I went into the woods.
“Rach, are you okay? What happened?” Jackson moved closer to me, and then his large hand patted my back.
“I hate him. I hate him.” I sobbed, choking on the words I tried to get out.
“What’d he do?” He draped his leather jacket over my shoulders, and I realized then, I hadn’t even bothered to grab my coat on the way out the window.
“I can’t talk about it right now.” I wiped my mouth and bounced on my heels before placing my butt on the ground and pulling my knees to my chest.
I couldn’t even describe what took place—I didn’t know, but it was bad. I knew that. And I ran. I took off like a coward instead of trying to save my mother or even staying to make sure Sara was safe. I was no better than the man I hated—he took advantage of the defenseless, and I’d left the weak behind to deal with his wrath. It dawned on me I was weak, too. He scared me to death. But one of these days, I would find the courage to save them.
“We should kill him.” Jackson’s words caught my attention and jerked me out of my thoughts.
“What?” My voice was merely a whimper, hoarse and raspy. I must have misunderstood him.
“He doesn’t deserve to live after all the shit he’s done.” His eyes were cold and lifeless. There wasn’t an ounce of emotion present in his expression.
“That’s crazy.” I shook my head. If I were truthful, the thought of his death wasn’t a bad one.
My family could finally be free of the evil that loomed within Duane. But murdering someone would make me just as sinister as the person I sought to eliminate. And Jackson wasn’t evil—neither was I. We were just two kids tired of the bullshit hand life had dealt us.
“I know.” He plopped down on the ground next to me in silent resignation. His natural heat warmed my trembling body, and his presence comforted me. “I hate him, too. I hate what he does to you.” His voice grew softer, and he nudged me gently with his shoulder.
“Me too.” A stray tear rolled down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away.
“One of these days, we’ll get away from here. I promise.” He draped his arm over my shoulder and pulled me to him. For the first time in ages, I felt a bit of…peace.
“We will.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
I would get away from here.
One of these days, I’d make my escape.
“What are you doing, Mama?” Sara rubbed her eyes, squinting in our mother’s direction. The sunlight beamed through the kitchen window, and I stood in the doorway, a few feet away, wondering the same thing.
“I’m packing us a picnic.” Mama grinned as she peered over her shoulder at us.
“You are? We’re having a picnic?” I chimed in, a little confused. It was the first day of spring break, and it was only nine in the morning.
It
was also the first time I’d seen my mom’s demeanor resemble any sort of happiness in over a month, and it set my emotions in overdrive. After the incident, she didn’t speak for a week. The guilt over not stopping it consumed me. So it was nice to see her happy—at least, it seemed that way. It eased the remorse that still lingered, even if just a little.
“I sure am. My boss has been letting me bring all the leftovers home from the dinner shifts, so we have plenty.” She continued to load food wrapped in aluminum foil into the cotton tote bag that she usually kept her sewing scraps in.
“Cool.” Sara stood beside her and peeked into the bag, trying to get a glimpse of what was inside.
“You two go get dressed and meet me out front.” She nudged us both in the direction of our bedroom. We did as we were told and got ready in record time.
Just a few minutes later, we were headed down our long, winding driveway toward the pond at the end of the road. There weren’t any signs indicating it was private property, and we’d seen little kids fishing there in the summer, so Mama assumed it was okay.
“This looks like a good spot.” She glanced around and pulled the blanket out of the bag, spreading it across the ground. Her reddish-brown hair blew in the wind, splaying across the tiny freckles that dotted her nose. Her blue eyes actually sparkled in the sunlight, and I couldn’t help but stare at her. She seemed…happy. And that made me overjoyed. Until I watched her hands while she straightened the blanket, and I caught another glimpse of it. She usually tried to keep it hidden, but the sunlight drew attention to the bright-red scar covering her ring finger. It was still raw and angry.
He’d made her pay when she dared to ask him where he’d been all the nights and days he was gone. Duane took her wedding ring off her finger and placed it on a fireplace poker before he shoved it into the burning brush of our only heat source. When the metal glowed with heat and searing intensity, he slid the ring back onto her finger, straight from the poker—reminding her who was in charge. Not that Mama told me any of those details, but I had an imagination and drew my own conclusions. It hadn’t taken much to paint the mental picture, especially since the poker still lay against the fireplace the next morning. That had been the reason for her deafening screams that night. And the smell of burnt flesh still lingered throughout the house.
The whole thing made me sick.
I tried my best to put the visions of what she went through that night out of my head and enjoy the afternoon. We didn’t get good days very often, and I wanted to take advantage of it while I could.
“So, are you girls happy to be out of school for spring break?” She began scooping some sort of casserole onto plastic plates, a grin still covering her lips.
“Oh yeah!” Sara beamed. “I’m going to watch cartoons all day.” It was the little things that made her happy.
“What about you, Rachel?” She squeezed my knee with her delicate fingers, her left hand folded at her side once again.
“I got extra books from the library. One of them, I’ve been waiting on forever.” I shoved a spoonful of the casserole into my mouth after speaking. Thankfully, the librarian had let me check out extra books for the break. Escaping to imaginary worlds was the only way to pass the time at home—it made things a little easier. My nights would be occupied with Jackson, but I never saw him during the day.
“Well, that’s good, I’m glad you like to read so much. I used to read a lot when I was your age, too.” She took her own bite and gave me a wink.
The three of us talked about school and Sara’s favorite new shows. Those rare few minutes were a little slice of happiness and peace. Mama had even brought chocolate cake. But just like clockwork, he always arrived just in time steal these precious moments from us and changed the course of any given day.
The sputter of his old clunker pulled closer to us. Mama’s body stiffened when he turned off the engine and rolled his window down. He didn’t say a word, but Mama offered him a smile and waited a moment before speaking.
“Do you want to join us?” she asked, a slight tremble in her tone.
Please say no. Please say no.
When he didn’t answer, she continued. “We have plenty here, but I saved you some at home, too.”
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, refusing to meet his gaze.
He didn’t reply or even acknowledge she’d spoken to him. He simply started the engine and revved it up before slamming it into drive and taking off.
“Aww man,” Sara whined. “Now there’s dirt on my cake.” Her bottom lip started to tremble, and hatred ran through me.
“I’m sorry,” Mama whispered, trying to wipe the dust off the cake, but it was useless.
“It’s fine. It’s not your fault.” Sara tried to reassure her, although it was clear she was still upset.
“Let’s just head home, okay, girls?” Her voice was meek and her posture defeated. With her eyes cast down, she swallowed hard and started to gather the food.
He always ruined everything.
Everything.
Most kids were excited about the last day of school. And to a certain extent, I was, too. I’d worked hard all year and made straight As. I didn’t know how far back colleges reviewed grades, but I hoped they’d see how hard I tried all through school. Getting a scholarship was the only way I’d ever see a college campus, so I had to work hard and pray I could get in.
And for that reason, I was ready to give my brain a rest. But not being in school brought on other problems. Mama had to worry about having enough food in the house to feed us since the free breakfast and lunch the school provided wasn’t an option in the summer. It also meant more hours of the day spent alone in this house with him. And that bothered me way more than skipping a few meals.
I could only hope he’d keep working those side jobs that he’d been busy with the past few weeks. I held onto that hope. But it was quickly shut down as we rounded the corner of the driveway and I saw him in the front yard, crouched down next to an old motorcycle. It dawned on me why he’d actually gotten off his butt to do anything—it wasn’t to help Mama with the bills or put food on the table, but to pay for some hunk of junk.
He wasn’t just an asshole. He was a selfish asshole. But that was no surprise.
“You got a motorcycle?” Sara lunged ahead of me and skipped through the gate first, a stack of papers held against her chest.
“Yep.” He didn’t look away from the piece of metal that he continued to work on.
“Cool.” She admired the piece of junk for some reason, walking in a slow circle around it.
He stopped twisting a piece at his fingertips and looked over his shoulder, his eyes drifting from my tennis shoes to my face, lingering on my shorts that I suddenly felt were too tight, for way too long. My stomach rolled as I turned my eyes away from him, wishing he would focus on his motorcycle once again.
“What’s wrong, this old bike not good enough for someone like you?” He brushed the back of his greasy hand over his lips, and my breathing started to quicken. I tried not to let my fear show—it just fed the monster that lived inside him. I hated the guilt he tried to make me feel as if wanting better in life was such a bad thing.
“I didn’t say anything,” I countered, doing my best to prevent my voice from trembling. I just wanted to get away and avoid any conversation with him. I didn’t want to instigate one of his moods or cause any problems.
Thankfully, he ignored my reply, and instead, stood and brushed past me, the smell of sweat lingering in the air. That was my cue to exit, so I shuffled my feet quickly.
His old car roared to life and made its departure, the sound of the engine getting quieter as he got farther away. I let out the breath I realized I was holding and slumped down onto my bed.
One of these days, I would get out of here. I would get a good job and have a nice apartment. My place would have an air conditioner, and I wouldn’t have to worry about the refrigerator having a padlock on it, so we didn’t eat his snac
ks. He would be far, far away. Those were the daydreams that got me through sometimes—the days I felt like these walls were closing in on me. And again, on the nights I wasn’t able to sneak out of my window, down to our old shed and hang out with Jackson and Danny. One of these days.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Sara’s distant cries drew me from my thoughts, and I immediately launched myself off my bed in search of my sister. Fear took over my body as my feet took me to her.
I ran out the front door we never used and saw Duane holding her by her arm. Her feet shuffled along the dirt creating a cloud of dust around her as he hit her on the bottom with a switch. Guilt coursed through me, realizing my own selfish thoughts had distracted me—I never heard him come back. I should have watched Sara.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. Her arms and legs wiggled wildly in an effort to escape and avoid contact. Pain covered her face.
“Don’t touch my shit!” he roared through gritted teeth. Saliva curled along the side of his mouth, and the piece of wood made a whistling sound each time it cut through the air.
I wanted to run. I wanted to save her. I wanted to scoop her up and leave this place.
“Stop!” My command left my lips without any thought of the aftermath.
He froze the instant I spoke, then let go of Sara’s arm and dropped his switch at the same time.
“What did you say?” His eyes burned into me, and a snarl took over his face. He was waiting, hoping.
“Leave her alone.” My voice shook, but I stared right back. I was scared to death but knew this was the only way to protect Sara from his wrath.
His attention left my sister, and he began to stalk toward me, his heavy boots clapping against the sidewalk, drawing me closer to my punishment.
My eyes darted to Sara, who sat on the ground with eyes wide and full of fear. I saw the welts on her legs from the switch, and I stood a little taller, prepared to take whatever he dished out.
