Chapter 5
Five
I’m hunkered down in my parents’ bedroom closet trying not to make a sound.
My brothers and I are playing hide-and-go-seek, and Graham is “it,” but I’ve sat here so long, numbness stings my butt.
Now I wonder if they’ve left me here on purpose.
They can be mean like that. I strain, listening for clues, but all I hear are my parents’ muffled voices somewhere in the house.
My dad’s tone sharpens, forceful enough that my breath skids to a stop. Unease slithers through me. Mom’s response is dimmed, too far away. Their voices ring out louder, closer, and when my parents enter their bedroom and shut the door, I freeze. Nothing moves except for my rapidly thudding heart.
Their exchange occurs in low, angry tones.
I’ll be in a ton of trouble if they catch me here, and I’m scared. To make my presence known. To keep it a secret. To witness my dad hurting my mom.
“I don’t want you saying that in front of the boys,” Mom hisses.
An unkind huff leaves my father’s mouth. “Why? It’s true. Having kids was a mistake. Especially Mick,” he grits out.
My eyes burn, and I shut them tightly, fighting even harder to stay still and quiet. Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry. Tightness squeezes my chest. I can’t breathe.
“I told you I didn’t want any more kids, and you went and got knocked up again. Now we’re stuck with three boys who can’t tell their ass from a hole in the ground,” he continues. “Townshend is the only one with half a brain.”
She gasps. “How can you be so cruel?”
“It’s not cruelty, it’s reality. They require constant supervision, time, and money.
They leave their crap everywhere, and for god’s sake, they can’t even remember to brush their goddamn teeth from one day to the next.
You think they’re going to become productive members of society?
If so, you’re more delusional than I thought.
Then again, you’re soft on them, always coddling their worthless asses and letting them take advantage.
It’s pathetic how easily they run roughshod over you. ”
Disgust coats my father’s ugly words. The need to check on my mom overrides my instincts, and I carefully lean forward enough to spy on them through the slatted doors.
“It’s no surprise, though. You don’t have a disciplined bone in your body so I’m always the one forced to dole out the tough love, and hell, toughen them up period, make men out of them.
Meanwhile, you ride in as the mollycoddling, overindulgent savior who can protect them from the big bad wolf.
Only you can’t. Jesus, you can’t even take care of yourself.
Look at you, Nancy. You’ve completely let yourself go. ”
“What?” my mother whispers, tears sliding down her cheeks.
He flicks a hand in her direction. “You’re overweight. Your ass looks like a war zone it’s so dimpled with cellulite. The unsightly stretch marks on your stomach—”
“I bore three children!”
“Yeah…three worthless children.” He lets out a hollow laugh.
“They’re undisciplined, and so are you. What you need is a regimen, a plan, an exercise program.
Take some pride in your appearance. Put some damn makeup on for a change.
Curl your hair. Wear a pretty dress. You barely resemble the woman I married.
It’s all I can do to get it up for you anymore. ”
One of her hands flies to her mouth, muffling her cry, and the other lands over her chest, her body caving in and making her seem smaller.
“Yeah, I’m being brutally honest with you. The truth is, you don’t show me jack shit for affection either. I feel like I’m stranded in the desert, and I may as well be with the paltry amount of attention that comes my way. You give it all to the boys, every damned minute.”
“Th-that’s not true,” she croaks. “I do plenty for you, and I’m here, aren’t I? That’s proof that I love you. Don’t forget I’m the one primarily taking care of our kids—it’s work managing them and the household. I’m tired at the end of the day.”
I’m transfixed, unable to even blink, my body rock-still while my insides swarm like trapped, angry hornets.
He moves closer, looming over her. “I work all goddamned day—and I commute to the city to do it. You don’t think I’m exhausted with the hours I expend providing for this household, making sure we have a roof over our heads and food, clothes, and every other damn thing?
Do I use that as an excuse to ignore you? ”
My mom looks at the ground.
Please don’t hit her. Please don’t hit her. Please don’t hit her.
“We haven’t had sex in well over a month,” he says, his voice cold.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
“Forget empty apologies. Why don’t you show me how much you love me right now?”
“Bill, I don’t think now is the time. The boys are all home—”
“Now’s the perfect time,” he snaps, and my heart beats hard and fast in my chest. “If you refuse me, everything you’re contending is bullshit.”
She stares at him, her expression weighted with something I don’t understand but which makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Her shoulders slump, eyes casting to the carpet as she starts to unbutton her blouse.
What is he going to do?
My dad reaches out his hand and stops her. “Just the lower half. That’ll do.”
She doesn’t utter a word, just removes her skirt and underwear over her bare feet while he stands there, looming over her much smaller frame.
I shouldn’t be here.
I shouldn’t watch.
But I’m trapped—and unable to look away.
He spins her around with her bare bottom facing him and bends her over the bed. He nudges her legs apart, and her eyes shut, one of her cheeks sinking against the mattress. He lowers his pants, enough to see his pale bottom too, then he moves close to her. Really close.
Mommy winces.
I can’t stop staring, even though watching feels icky. This is something married people do, I think, but also…not okay in some way. I can tell my mom doesn’t like it.
“Jesus Christ,” he snaps. “You’re dry as a bone. This is how much you want me, huh? Funny…I can’t tell.” He spits in his palm and rubs himself with it, then shoves his hips against her again, rocking into her as he grunts.
Her eyes go wide, one of her hands clutching the bedspread so tightly her knuckles whiten. My legs twitch, heart pounding, the urge to burst from this closet and make him stop…whatever he’s doing…raging through me. I cover my mouth, smothering the sounds threatening to spill out.
That’s all I do, paralyzed in place, terrified to move one muscle—or even blink.
He moves faster, slamming his body into her so roughly she jolts forward on the mattress each time.
He keeps grunting like an ogre. My mom’s face contorts in suffering and…
sadness. My chest constricts, pangs, aches.
My eyes prickle and burn. Tears slide over the apple of her cheek and across her lips, clamped into a grim line. She doesn’t make a sound. Not one.
Like me.
I don’t understand what I’m watching, but something down to the very marrow of my bones screams this is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong.
But I’m small. Weak. Afraid.
I do nothing.
And I never go back into that closet again.