Is it me?

Is it me?

The cold harsh wind was more pleasant than the feeling I had in my chest. Sharp icy pangs filled my heart, making my eyes brim with tears. There was no way to make the noise go away. The arguing that filled the house. Angry, bitter words like knives thrown without a care. I maybe only 5 years old, but I knew what hate was. I knew that there was hate in the words that we screamed at each other.

            Hands clamped down my ears, gently guiding me down the hallway to my sister’s bedroom. Strange, I was never allowed in there. Sitting down Staci pulled out a large plastic box. Inside were the small Lego’s.

            “Come on,” Staci smiled. “What do you want to build?” More screaming from the living room broke through the walls, pounding against their heads, forcing them to see that their normal, everyday lives were over.

            “A house,” I mumbled. She smiled at me and pulled the box closer. Her hand mixed the pieces around in the container, purposefully making a lot of noise. Even the racket of petite plastic pieces couldn’t mask the uproar in the den.

A small, multicolored wall began to form around our new house. Feeble plastic walls on the thin green base board. I always wanted to build a big house out of these Lego’s but I never had the patience. I would give up and destroy the house before I ever finished.

Eerie silence fell in the living room. A string of stomping and pounding emptied the room. With shaking hands, we kept building. Frigid, frozen hands grabbed my wrist. Pulling me closer, my sister enveloped me in a hug. Her heavy chin rested on my head. I felt like she thought I was the one who needed comforting. I didn’t. Mom and Dad fought all the time. This time was just louder. Everything was going to be okay in the morning.

“Time for you to go to bed, sweetie.” Standing up, my sister put her hands on my shoulders and led me into my bedroom. I put on my pajamas and curled up in bed. Everything was going to be okay in the morning.

When morning did come, it was still as quiet as a graveyard. Little did I know, something actually had died between the family. Scrambling out of bed I shoved a brush through my bed head, and followed my sister across the apartment hall to our neighbors. Expecting bible study, I was dumbstruck when I walked in on a crying fit. My mom was there with my sister, our neighbors stood near them.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Well, honey,” my mom began. She moved forward and put a hand on my shoulder. Her eyes were filled with tears that threatened to wash down her cheeks. “Your dad and I, well, we’re getting a divorce.” And that was it, no restraint. The strength holding her tears in, failed.

“She’s leaving,” my sister sobbed. Uncontrollable tears poured down my face. The rolling chalkboard was shoved, abandoned, in a corner. Last week’s lesson still scrawled across the black surface.

Divorce. The dictionary defines it as any formal separation of husband and wife according to established custom. I define it as The End. No more dinners all together with mom and dad. No more happy trips to the zoo or movies. No more Christmas’ together. No more Mom and Dad.

I watched my mom pack without crying. Painful jabs in my chest. I couldn’t help feeling like maybe she wanted to leave me. That I was why she was really leaving. My sister stayed with my dad, brother, and I. Little did I know that she would soon be choosing to leave me, too.

Dinner the first night was quiet. My dad sat across from me. The spaghetti splattered across my plate. Thoughts of spaghetti dinners with my mom churned through my head. Unexpected tears started dampening my cheeks.

“Come here,” my dad said. Scrambling out of my chair, I huddled in his warm embrace.

            “I miss her,” I whispered into his chest.

            “Me too. Me too,” he murmured back into my hair. I don’t know how long we stayed there but I knew it was going to take longer than I was willing to give, to deal with my mom and my sister leaving me.

            Staci went to live with our grandma. Mom went to live with her friend Matt in Ohio. My brother, Nicholas, and I stayed with our dad for several years. Our sister was won over in the battles fought in front of a judge, and she moved to live with Mom. It would take longer, and me asking to live with Mom, until I finally got my turn. Almost 5 years later, and I can finally say that I figured my ‘dragon’ out. My mom wasn’t leaving me. She was leaving the problem, Dad. It took a long time until I was ever even able to talk about the divorce without crying. I think that if I hadn’t asked my dad if I could live with Mom, it would have taken longer to get here. Not two months after I moved to Ohio, my dad and stepmom moved to Germany again. 5 years in Ohio. To tell the truth, it’s the longest I have ever lived in one place and I plan on staying here for at least a couple more years. 

Reviews

[NoelleRash]

This had a really strong beginning. then you kind of wandered a bit. There were parts that seemed to the narrator to be part of normal life but a reader would not understand( going to the neighbors for bible study?, the chalkboard in the corner) it would help to maybe explain those further. and a child saying they want to build a house, while their parents are fighting is highly symbolic and I wished it had be brought back to the end of the story. Why did the father move to Germany? Why did the narrator move around so much? how did the narrator feel when her mother fought for the older sister but not her? I know this may have been just a story of your parents divorce, but I think it could be a strong nonfic piece about you finding "home".