It can't really be happening, I thought. As he hugged me long and hard I felt thousands of needles prick my eyelids. I shed not blood, but tears. My heart turned to stone as it fell to my stomach. My mind, twisting with agony, was filled with words that made no sense.
They seemed so happy together until the bills came. Too much money, too much work, too much fighting. Every night they were at it, screaming at the top of their lungs, shaking the house as if to say, "You see, Melissa, something has to be done."
I learned my lesson the hard way. Don't ever go near your parents when they fight. It's like another person takes them over as they scream out pure hatred, resentment, jealously, envy, madness... Would it ever stop? I longed for the nights when there would be silence, complete, heavenly silence. No breaking dishes, no remarks like "I hate you and everything around you." But now that that silence is here, I don't want it. I want them to be back together.
He left me with one last glance, and a small wave. There went my father, whom I trust, whom I love, whom I need. Where would he to go? What would happen? Would there be other people? What would I do? Where would I go? So many questions, yet no one to answer them. My mother, teary-eyed and silent, rose from the chair and walked away. I needed someone to comfort my pain, my hollow emptiness, my sorrow, my self pity. Why did they have to do this to me? Did they care for only themselves?
Anger burned within me, like a flame just starting out, growing rapidly into a raging fire. The fire was out of control and it was taking me with it. I smashed my hand to the table, but all that resounded was a dull thump, with no one to hear it. Suddenly my house, once filled with hatred words, seemed to taunt me, saying, "You got your silence. Aren't you happy?"
I wept as never before. Then I rose to look out the window, seeing only a dark, cold driveway. No father, no car, no love. Just sorrow. n
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.