Silent Truth

rr..Rirr. rr..Rirr. rr..Rirr. rr..Rirr. rr. . Ri-VOOOOOoooooom! I cringed and stared at the master bedroom window at the opposite side of the house, but it stayed dark. They were sound asleep. I let out my breath and glanced at the side mirror, only to see a cloud of bluish-grey smoke, tinted red by the silent glow of the parking lights. Ice glistened across the vast expanse of the driveway, the neighbor’s lights reflecting off its surface. A pitch black shadow moved eerily across the pavement. I shut my eyes tightly, hugged my knees to my chest, and squeezed as hard as I could.

Instantly, memories flashed across my field of view, each leaving its own unique stamp on my mind, now writhing in pain. Towers of boxes loomed in the Great Room, almost reaching the second floor bridge above. A single lamp with a rusty Jesus figurine at its base cast an ominous, dark yellow light over each box. I thought I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, so I turned around, half expecting to see a man with no eyes, or a monster with yellow eyes, but there was only a pile of antique chairs.

Voices flew through my mind as if they were in a Nascar race. . .

“Dad, please make mom turn the heat up.” I whimpered.

He looked me up and down. “How many shirts are you wearing?”

“Four.”

“How many pairs of pants are you wearing?”

“Two.”

He shook his head. “Only four shirts, two pairs of pants, a hat, no jacket, and then you tell me you’re cold.” He turned back to his laptop and quietly said, “Obey your mother.”

******

“Dad, I need you to call the school and tell them I’m not coming today. . . I threw up two hours ago.”

“Did you get it all over the floor?”

******

“I’M SICK OF YOUR BULLSHIT, KID! GET IN THE HOUSE NOW OR I’LL FLATTEN YOU!” He pointed at the van.

******

“Get on your knees.” she snarled at me. “Sal, don’t move all of this furniture out of the car by yourself while Nobody over there’s standing with his arms crossed because he thinks he’s too good for tag sales.”

******

“You useless son of a bitch, I’ll unscrew every light bulb from its socket!”

******

“If our boxes are affecting you this much, then you have a problem. We’re going to try to get you help for it.”

******

“I’M SICK OF YOUR SHIT, KID!! YOU BETTER SHAPE UP, BUDDYBOY, OR YOU CAN LIVE ON THE STREET!”

******

“You ungrateful brat! You live in a mansion, and you have wonderful, loving, caring, nurturing parents. Tell me I’m a beautiful mother.”

“. . . You’re a beautiful mother.”

“Say it again.”

“You’re a beautiful mother.”

“Again.”

“You’re a beautiful mother.”

“Again. . .” her voice trailed off.

******

My eyes snapped open. I glanced to the side, and a cold, wet tear silently rolled down my cheek. All I wanted was my mom. No, not the son of a bitch bastard behind the bedroom window. I wanted my real mom. I needed to be hugged and kissed and snuggled. . . I needed to be loved. I also needed my babe. To be held so close that I knew I’d never be hurt again; to be loved so gently that miracles would happen with every kiss. I hugged the seat, pretending it was her.

I thought about all of the people from school and the community. . . friends, teachers, neighbors, church people. I loved them. . all of them. I only wished they understood. If I loved them so much, why’d I lie to them every day? Why did I just slap a convenient, fake smile on my face and pretend everything was okay? Why did I make up excuses like, ‘My computer broke.’ or ‘The power went out.’ When it was really because he threw me into the computer and it fell over, or it was so cold that I couldn’t write because my hand wouldn’t move?

I guess it was because I didn’t want sympathy. All I wanted was to be a normal, 15 year old kid. I needed to be me, not their perfect little lawyer, doctor, or businessman.

I shivered and watched each wisp of breath fill the air in front of me, then dissipate into nothingness. ‘It’s probably about time to turn the heat on.’ I decided.

Dust flew from the car’s ancient vents, but warm air soon followed. I stared at the Check Engine light on the dashboard and thought to myself, ‘Maybe one day I’ll write a memoir about all of this.’ Funny thing is, all of mine would be true.