My Story - In Three Part (Un)Harmony

The following was originally written in the summer of 2010, at the urging of a counselor I had seen while in my fifties and a very special friend. Both young enough to be my daughter. Bother wise beyond their years.

A child of six

I lay in my bed, alone in the dark. I listened in fear as the monster roared and thrashed about. I tried to escape his screams but they seeped through the pillow wrapped around my head. My heart pounded inside my chest. My breathing was rapid as air rushed into and out of my lungs. I opened my mouth but not a sound could be heard.

As I lay there, I wondered what would happen next. Would he once again hurl mom across the room as he had done so many times before? Would he crash through the door and hurl me across the room? Would we survive this night of terror like we had done so many times before? Or would tonight be our last night living in this dark, ugly place?

Eventually the monster wore himself out as he always did. Eventually sleep washed away the nightmare as it always did.

A boy of sixteen

I sat on my bed, my younger brother did the same. He looked at me and I looked back at him. Our sister was just down the hall, alone in her room. What had just happened?  Had I just awakened from a bad dream? No, now I remember.

Mom and dad had gone to a mid-day Christmas party. The hours passed as we three were left alone to play our favorite game: running and chasing each other through the house while yelling: “I’m gonna tell.” Finally with anticipation, we stood in the window as our car pulled into the drive. Seconds later the monster crashed through the door chasing after mom who was already clinging to me for protection. The monster raised his fist and stood ready to slay anyone who challenged his authority.

And now, once more the battle raged on, just outside our bedroom doors. As I sat there, I wondered, how many times more would history repeat itself? How many times more would mom battle an adversary she could not conquer? How many times more would the sights and sounds of anger and hate be recorded in our consciousness?

My heart pounded inside my chest. My breathing was rapid as once again air rushed into and out of my lungs. I opened my mouth and at the top of my lungs I screamed: “No one in this house gives a “fudge” about anyone else but themselves!”

It goes without say that “fudge” was not the word that sprang from my lips. The noun that I used, as best I can recall, was one that had never been spoken by anyone in our house before that day – not even the monster. And yet at that moment I found it within my vocabulary and somehow just as quickly I found the strength (or perhaps the rage) to shout it out loud for the entire world to hear.

No sooner had I uttered my proclamation, than a silence fell upon the house. A silence unlike any silence I had ever heard. Moments later the bedroom door sprang open and there stood mom, sis, and dad. In unison they moved across the room towards the bed, towards my brother and me. Dad dropped to his knees at my side and began to weep as he once more begged for forgiveness. Once more he promised that the monster would never hurt any of us again.

With tears in my eyes, I looked up at mom. What choice did I have?  What could I say? What could I do? I asked mom to once again forgive him. I asked mom to once again believe him. What choice did she have?  What could she say? What could she do? As dad stood up, mom found the courage, the strength. With tears in her eyes, she embraced him. With a quiver in her voice, she forgave him.

A man of twenty-six

I stood in the doorway. I wiped the grease from my hands and mopped the sweat from my brow. The day had hardly begun and already the thermometer was well above eighty degrees. The overhead door and the large pedestal fan in the corner would provide the only relief – the only air conditioning – just as they had all summer long. For a moment I closed my eyes and imagined a cool, tropical breeze and crashing surf.

I opened my eyes and there stood mom on the sidewalk just steps from where I stood. I knew in an instant that something terrible had happened. Mom pulled up the sleeves of her sweater and took off her sunglasses. The monster had been beating her for the past several days. (Later I learned that there where many, many more bruises than the ones I had seen that day.) The monster told her that he was going to kill her and this time she was convinced that he meant what he said. With a shaky voice, mom said: “I have to leave your dad – will you help me?” I drove her home and paced anxiously in the living room as mom frantically packed. When she returned from the bedroom she handed me the gun that the monster had assured her he would use.

I took her to a friend’s house and then later I drove her to the house of my in-laws where she stayed until she got her own apartment. Mom was finally free. The monster would batter and torment her no more.

The next morning, just as unexpectedly, dad appeared outside the same overhead door where mom had stood the day before. He looked at me and in a calm, yet determined voice, he said: “You are either for me or you are against me. If you won’t help me get your mother back, I don’t need you in my life.” The words echoed in my head: “You are either for me or you are against me.” Had he forgotten? I now have a voice. Again my mind repeated the words: “You are either for me or you are against me.” Does he not know?  I now have a choice.

I looked at my dad and I told him I was sorry. Sorry that he felt the way that he did. Sorry that I would no longer be his son. That was the last time we spoke. As far as he was concerned, I no longer existed. As far as he was concerned, I was as good as dead.

As for me, it was the monster that died that day. And as for me, on that day, I too was finally free.