Holidays
204 Words
It’s Thanksgiving, and I’m now four years old. Things become more and more violent. My parents got into a huge fight the night before. My little brain doesn’t remember the details, but remembers my mothers distinct words; “when mommy says call 911, call 911.” That’s nothing a child should ever learn how to do.
Back to the following day, Thanksgiving. My grandmother walks by, my favorite person in the whole world.
“Mamo, mommy and daddy were fighting last night”
BANG! My dad hits my head with the wrench he was using on the table.
“Don’t tell anyone what goes on between me and your mother”
How am I supposed to have a healthy sense of communication? I’m pleading for help out of this situation.
I grow some, and now they’re fighting every Sunday. It’s bill day. Another call to the family friend to get me out of my house quickly. I’m sure my dad put another knife to my mothers chest.
“Are you ready to watch Mommy die?”
Why? Why can’t you see I’m pleading for you to stop. You are my roll model. The first man in my life.
Why? Why are you doing this?
- Writer
