nixtress's Diaryland Diary

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

broken days

Waking up in the middle of last night, I realized every muscle in my body was locked up and I was so tense it hurt to move.

And although this doesn't sound scary on the surface, it is. It's a throwback to the years I was trying so hard to grow up faster than I could.

Lying in my bed, wee morning hours creeping in, listening with ears tuned to the noises that signalled a battle coming on, or sleep beginning. Low thrum of voices in the kitchen, occasional laughter and chinking of bottles hitting each other or thunking of cans connecting in the trash can. Then the sound of muted goodbyes and padding feet to the bowels of the household..those were the sounds of a good night.

Escalating voices, soon so clear you can hear every shouted word, rude scooting of chairs across cheap linoleum, furniture finding new places to rest, profanity flowing like a dirty river, and then the slap-sting sound of flesh hitting flesh..those were the sounds of a bad night.

I remember being stretched so tautly I thought my skin would crack, waiting and planning for every eventuality. On nights I knew it was coming, I'd take my small brother to my bed with me. Easier to vacate when you know exactly where everyone is.

Sometimes I swear she begged for it, even egged it on. Sometimes I knew that was wrong, and that she'd give anything for it not to happen. Sometimes he'd cry, head in his hands, sobbing his apologies and frustration. And sometimes he'd just spit in her face and walk away, leaving her bleeding or broken or both.

In the seventeen years my mother and my step-father spent together, you'd think they'd find a way to circumvent this vicious circle, but they never did. Oil and water..strange vinaigrette.

Three months after I moved out, 3 months after my 18th birthday, they began divorce proceedings. 8 months later, my step-father (the man who'd raised me and called me munchkin and treated my mother as a punching bag)died after a high-speed chase with sheriff's deputies. He took a corner too fast, was ejected from the vehicle and broke every bone in his neck. Drunk, he was not a nice guy. Big, muscular, sometimes evil-tempered. Sober, he was intelligent and eloquent and funny ..he made me feel safe. He taught me and nurtured my love for literature and the outdoors and he taught me that everyone has a story, and deserves to tell it.

Waking up as I did tossed me headfirst back into those years and the fears..and the hopelessness that came with it.

And I was reminded anew what I want for my children and what I want for my life.

Simply put?

Peace. Asylum within my home. An even keel for all of us. Stability with a safe kind of shake-up now and again.

G'nite.

N.

8:40 p.m. - 2003-04-17

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

previous - next