Freeing Myself

December 15, 2008
Just like every other day, I came home and threw myself onto my lumpy bed. I was tired from keeping my mind distracted. Struggling to gulp down my bitter tears, I bit my lips, closed my eyes and tried my best to wipe my pain away. My mascara ran, my lips bled, my face red from holding the pain in, I finally let my tears out, my tears, like wild cheetahs, ran out and spread across my face. They dried on my face, leaving a chalky white mark. I finish crying and it was almost five o’clock. I ran into the washroom and splashed water onto my face, purifying my thoughts. Frozen in front of the mirror, I look at myself. My eyes skimming over every component of my face, my high cheekbones, my flaming-red curls, my big hazel eyes.

I rush into my room as I hear the keys chiming near my door, I lock it. I quietly think in my head, if I keep this door locked, my thoughts will be locked in with me. I am the one causing this frustration. Maybe locking me in will stop the non-stop fighting and abuse. Maybe it will give them some time to think their actions through. Since I was eight years old, I have understood that it will never help though. My ideas are useless, they are the ones picking fights and being thoughtless, I have nothing to do with it. But still, ten years later, I still keep my stupid ideas in my head, not changing. I close myself in, away from my social life, away from my dreams and my hopes.
My dad finally comes home too. I already hear them fighting. I open my door, and scan the halls. Slowly, I tiptoe out the door to see what happens downstairs. I cautiously walk down the creaky stairs, and try to solve their problem.

Not surprised, I see my dad looking mad, staring at my mom, as she sits on the floor, sobbing. I run to my mom, and help my mom up. I stomped to my dad, ready to yell at him and question him, but before I can, he glances at me and pushes my out of the way.

“Get out of here you stupid girl!” he yelled.

“Stop yelling at Mom!”

“What? Is this what you taught your precious daughter to do? To talk back?”

“No, father, you taught me this.” I said and stomped away. I assumed he was staring at me uncaringly.
The next day, I went to find a job, got two, it should be enough. I worked two jobs for five months, while my mom did the same. We finally had enough money to move out. So that day, we attempted to escape. It didn’t work. Father dragged us back, and gave us each slaps, shoves, punches and kicks, until bruises and cuts had covered every inch of our bodies. But we never gave up. Even if he scolded us, locked us up, took our money away, hit us, burned us, starved us, we never gave up, because we knew that ten years of this is too much. We couldn’t deal with more. At least we had each other. Even if we didn’t have money, clothing, or food, we will escape, and find some way to survive. We finally truly understood what we had to do. So we kept trying, over and over, until it happened on a daily basis. We would come home early, and have everything ready, and we would try to escape. Before long he just went out and dragged us back.

On that Monday, I was determined, and I was sure my mom was, we thought it through this time, analyzing every step we take, with plans and schemes to back us up. That night we didn’t sleep, watching until he was asleep. Then, we crept downstairs, opened the door, and ran. Ran and ran and ran. We ran until our legs burned as if they were on fire, and were going to tear off and shatter. I looked back. Just to find him sprinting to keep up, a few feet away from us, so I screamed to my mother, “He’s behind us! Run!!” He caught my hand and he pulled and pulled my arm, until it burned, it felt like it was on fire. I suddenly got a burst of energy and gave it my 100% I ran and ran with all my strength, not caring if my arm tears off right then and there. He let go, my whole hand was purple from the loss of blood circulation and my sleeve tear from my shoulders.
On that Monday, we succeeded. Our mistakes taught us much, but that wouldn’t make up for the fact that we had no money, and would starve eventually. So we went out for work and earn money hiding ourselves from anyone that knows us. So we slowly made our way up, and slowly we helped pull ourselves up.

A few years later, when my name was known, I was a writer and my name was up everywhere, he contacted us. He called that day and scared the hell out of us.

“Savannah, Honey. It’s me, your dad. Remember?” he said. His voice was soft and gentler than before. My heart raced and my breathing turned into gasps.

“Honey, I know you’re there. I’m sorry. Please, let me take care of the two of you. Please.” He pleaded, “I… now I understand why… why I use to hit you two, and it would… it would never happen again.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want anything to do with you. Good bye.” I said casually as I began to hang up, but I heard him shouting for me to stay on the phone.

“Savannah, I want you guys back. Please, just give me a second chance. I know why I use to… hit you. But, I know I won’t. I was sick, I was sick. I had anger management problems, but I got a therapist, and she gave me some pills, I take one each week. It’s working so well. She says I would be able to take you back. If you’re willing to let me.”

“I don’t need you. We don’t need you.” I said, leaking some acid into my voice, but he just kept talking in the gentle, sincere voice.

“Please.” He said, his voice was so quiet it was barely a whisper.

“Why?” I asked blankly, a tear trickled down my cheek. “Why did you hit her? You loved her. You loved me. Why were you angry?” I missed him so much. I missed his voice when he used to play catch with me when I was really little. I missed the bright smile he flashed me when I didn’t know they were fighting. But as soon as I saw them fighting that night, that magical and blissful night they stopped faking it, they stopped being great parents for me.

“I… I don’t know. I do love you, and I do love her, still. There were so many things that triggered my anger, and it was mainly my fault. I took out all my anger from when I was a child out on her. All my hatred for my mother on her, I didn’t want you to feel the same, I tried to get her to change her ways, but she wouldn’t. I didn’t want you to despise her like how I had. I don’t want you to regret hating her, like how I do. I don’t want you to feel sorry for hating her long after she’s gone, when it’s not possible to tell her you love her. But I was wrong. Your mom is a great mother, and now I understand it. Now I know my mother is a great mother as well. And…” his voice broke, as if he were on the verge of tears, his sure, even, gentle voice was so quiet on the phone, it was merely a breath, “And… I love her, but now she’s gone. And I want her back. I want you back. I want to fix this before it’s too late. I don’t want to go through all the regret again.”

I thought back to all the good times back then. Was that cheeriness always a show? Were those sincere smiles and laughs all fake?

“Dad, I love you too. But… what you did… what am I supposed to say to that? I can’t just forget that. Dad, we’ve had such great times, and I miss it so much, but I… I just don’t know.”

“I was afraid of this,” he sighed, “can I at least visit you? Chat on the phone with you? I miss you so much.” He pleaded desperately.

I bit my lip, after some hesitation I answered him, “Sure dad, whatever makes you happy.”

“Thanks so much Savannah…Can… Can I talk to Lily?”

I sighed, “Sure, I’ll ask her.” I put the phone down and called to my mom.

“Mom, come pick up the phone.” She grabbed the phone and talked into it confidently. Ever since we moved out, my mother seemed younger and younger. She was only seventeen when she had me, so she wasn’t too old, but she seemed three times her age back then.
“Hello?” she said, and her eyes widening in shock as she listened to the reply, “Oh my goodness. No, no, no! How did you find us!?” She asked frantically, and then calmed down a little. I was tired to I sat down and she did too. She looked at me and sighed. “Yes, we miss you. You were so sweet back then. I know. I know.” She kept talking and I dozed off.
“Savannah, will you let him move in here with us?” my mother asked me as she shook me awake, the phone still clutched in her hands.
“… I don’t know… Can we just take it slow?” I asked, my mascara running down my face.
“Sure, of course honey, of course.”
“So… does that mean… are you guys back together now?” I asked.
“I… I don’t know. Like you said, lets just take it slow.” I nodded and got up to get myself some water. She hung up and wrapped her arm around my shoulder and walked with me.
“Are we really going to let him back in our lives?” I asked.
“Just… Let’s just give him a chance to prove himself to us.”

I nodded again and smiled to her. She laughed out loud, doubling over. Then her laugh became bitter.

“What?” I asked her.

She shook her head, “It’s just that you look ridiculous. Your mascara running, white chalky tears streaking across your cheeks and you’re smiling this goofy smile. It’s so funny to look at.” She kept laughing, and I laughed with her.

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SonjaRenae said...
Dec. 11, 2011 at 9:34 pm
Really Nice!!! A mix of things that kept me on edge! I loved it :D It would be great if you could check out my work! Any comments or ratings would be very appreciated!!
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