I never asked. Every part of me wanted to know why, but I never gathered the courage to ask. Sometimes it’s better to keep silent, even if the silence nearly kills you. But the same question just hovered over my shoulders, pressing down on me, grasping me, suffocating me with its merciless clutches. But I never said a word, mostly because I didn’t want to hurt my mother by reminding her of the wounds that were still fresh. Her wounds were like icebergs. They only showed on the outside and to the world they were like small patches of ice floating on the smooth sea. But they were much deeper on the inside, and I’m sure they pierced her from within. I didn’t want to rub salt on them. Instead, I wanted the icebergs within her to melt. So I kept mum and always kept all my questions locked within my heart and put on a mask of oblivion. The only time that I was able to think out loud was when all the lights were off, all the curtains had been drawn, and when I was sure that my mother had closed her eyes and drifted off into deep sleep. That’s when those moments would come back to haunt me. That’s when I’d replay all those moments, over and over again…
The door broke open with a loud bang that my mother and I had gotten used to. In stepped a filthy looking man with dirty, torn clothes and shoes. I didn’t know what was filthier – his appearance or his intentions. He stepped inside the house, bringing in all the filth and dirt from the outside world. But the smut that he had brought into our world was much worse. The silence that had taken over the house was equivalent to the silence before a perilous storm. We’d watch him drink all day, as if his companion was alcohol and we never even existed. And when he’d get tired of our existence, he’d go out on the streets to pour more alcohol into his system. He slowly walked down the stairs, his footsteps constantly reminding us that he was getting closer and closer to us and that he would bring something new to the table tonight. I saw him lean close into my mother’s face, and as he opened his mouth to speak, the abominable smell of alcohol and cigarettes took over the entire room. I stood there and took it all in because God knew what he would have done to me if I had wrinkled up my face with disgust.
“Make me food,” I heard him say in his husky, monstrous voice. “Go. Get me food. Go. NOW!” he hollered over the top of his lungs. I saw my mother shake as she succumbed to his orders. But I stood there. The hot blood was rushing through my veins; my heart was pounding with anger and fear and I felt my face get hot and fiery as he looked right into my eyes.
“You! Go inside. Get out of my sight you worthless thing. LEAVE!” I hurried away from him like a helpless animal. It was as if he was a merciless hunter who was after my life, waiting to hold me in his rough, filthy hands just so that he could crush me. But I ran into the other room and shut the door on him. I found a corner to sit in and started to collect teardrops on the palms of my hands before I was interrupted by my mother’s screams coming from the kitchen. I was accustomed to those screams and cries, but every time I heard them it felt like they were new. I heard the glass shatter, I heard his brutal voice and slurred speech, I heard my mother’s silence. I heard everything. When I heard the front door slam I knew he was gone, and I rushed to the kitchen to find my feeble mother sitting in a small corner all wounded and bruised.
We were sitting in opposite corners when it happened, but we were shedding the same tears out of the same fear because of the same person. And none of us could have done anything about it. That day was etched in my mind and heart. It was there like a permanent scar and there was nothing in the world that was going to free me from it. It was the inescapable truth of our lives. It was difficult to live with it, and growing up with it was even harder. But we couldn’t have coexisted. It was either me or him…
“He never wanted you.” My aunt was probably the only person who was willing to expose me to the truth. Everyone else wanted me to live in a bubble; they wanted me to float away from the truth without asking any questions. But I wanted to know everything.
“He never wanted you, honey.” She continued. “You should be happy that you’re alive. You should be happy that you exist. The day he found out that your mother was going to have you he dragged her into the abortion clinic and tried to bribe the doctor into getting you aborted. He never wanted you.”
He never wanted you. It rang in my ears like an evil chant. He never wanted you.
“He tried everything he possibly could have to make sure that he killed you before you came into this world, even if that meant killing your mother. He’d deprive her of food and sleep. We didn’t know who he hated more – his wife or you.”
We didn’t know who he hated more.
“Thank goodness Mom and Dad found out in time and took her back into their house. Or else he would have killed both of you. The last memory that your mother has of him is when he held her up against the wall and tried to choke her to death. That was the last time she saw him…”
When he held her up against the wall and tried to choke her to death.
“…He wasn’t there to see you come into the world. He was sitting on some dirty road, intoxicated, his mind taken over by drugs and alcohol. What a waste of talent. What a waste of life. He was a scientist, an athlete, an actor. He was an amazing actor, actually. He was able to put on a mask for three whole years before marrying your mother and demolishing her world.”
***
He wasn’t there to see you come into this world.
No. He wasn’t there for anything. He wasn’t there when I first spoke. He wasn’t there when I took my first steps and tumbled back to the ground. He wasn’t there when my teachers wanted to congratulate him for my accomplishments. He wasn’t there to carry me on his shoulders when I couldn’t see the parade because it was too crowded. He wasn’t there to heal the scrapes and wounds that I had gotten after falling off of my bike. He wasn’t there to kiss me goodnight. He was never there, and he never will be. The only souvenir of his existence in my life is the question that continues to hover over my shoulders. Why? I’ll never know…
***
He was home. Oh no. He was home. I scurried away like a little squirrel trying to find some shelter that would protect me from his grasp. My mother stood still, knowing that any effort to escape his sight would result in a longer, tougher battle. I could hear myself gasping for air, running around in little circles because that was all a toddler could have done. I picked up speed and ran faster thinking I’d be able to escape somehow. But I came to a rapid stop as soon as I saw his 6’3” body towering over my head. I don’t remember what he looked like. I just know he looked like a monster. I felt my heart almost jump out of my chest as he took my arm and pulled me to the top of the stairs. I turned back, there were tears in my eyes now, but through my teary eyes I could see a blurred image of my mother frantically following him, trying to free me from his clutches. But she couldn’t. He was at the top now. He had control. I heard my mother beg and plead, but he was deaf to her cries and with extreme hatred in his eyes, he threw me down the stairs. The scars are still there.
My mother and I were sitting in one small corner of the world, unknown to the fact that there were hundreds of other women and children who shared a similar fate as ours. Those terrifying nights, those piercing screams, the burning tears that we both were accustomed to weren’t unique to us. They had taken over countless lives, turning dreams into nightmares. As I grew older, I realized this nightmare had a name: domestic violence. And I wasn’t the only child fearing it.
My father’s dirty voice still rings in my ears sometimes; his ruthless face still haunts me. But when the sunlight hits my mother’s reassured face every morning, I realize that his existence was just a bad dream, a bad storm in our lives. The storm has passed and the skies have cleared, but the dark clouds still haunt other lives. Let’s walk towards the sun’s warm rays and leave the thunder behind. Let’s put an end to this loud silence without putting an end to ourselves.
