The strongest memory i have, was when I was six. My dad had a good job, we lived in a nice house, and in a excellent neighborhood. My mom acted like nothing was wrong. She put on a mask of happiness when ever someone was around. I didn't understand why then, I mean, why was she hiding her busies? Why is she hiding her life from her friends and neighbors? One night she didn't have a choice. When i look back, it might have even been a life and death situation for her.
My dad came home drunk. This wasn't new to us and my mom told me to ignore him when his breath smelt funny. I knew what it was but i never told her, just like i never said anything about my brothers weird smell that always clung to him and why is eyes are red and puffy. I knew my brother was smoking weed and whatever kind of drug he can get his hands on. I mean, at 13, he was stealing my Dad's cigarettes.
This night was one of the worst. He was drunk and angry. He crashed through the door. My mom and I exchanged glances and looked away. We were used to this and we had our plan laid out already. This time it went wrong. When i was ignoring him, he got angry and picked me up by neck and threw me onto the couch and started screaming at me. "Talk to me you useless little bitch!" He was spitting on me and the alcohol stung my nose, hot tears were streaming down my face. My mom came in and pulled him off of me. He turned on her and started punching. My mom ran into the kitchen to get out from the back door. I got off the couch and ran after her. He was coming after us too. "Clarissa go to the front door and run to the neighbors!" My mom was in the corner screaming and i did what she told me to do.
My dad overheard and blocked the front door. I went to turn around and go back to the the porch door but he yanked me by my ponytail and pushed me into the living room. I heard more screams from my mom., when i looked into the kitchen i saw my mom being dragged by her hair across the kitchen floor, my dad had a knife. I ran in and started pounding on my dad's back with my tiny fists. I was so little and weak, it didn't even phase him. I turned and ran to the phone. I took the phone and ran to my closet, i shut the door behind me trying to drown out the screams. All i heard was crashing and screaming and crying.
I quickly dialed 9-1-1 and i tried to tell them what had happen but my tears clogged my nose and ran down my cheeks. I couldn't breath, I tried to tell the police as much as i could. A few minutes later my dad ripped open my closet door and saw me on the phone. He yelled at me: "Great Clarissa! Call the cops on your damn mother! Go live in a foster home, see what i care. Let me go to jail. I don't want you anymore." More tears flooded to my face, stinging my eyes from all the rubbing i have done already. I just wanted to leave with my mom and never come back.
My dad was arrested and the cops told me mother he has had more then 18 beers. "The legal limit is 6," the cop explained. "We were wondering if we could question Clarissa. To get the full story." My mother agreed. They said i did the right thing. I asked myself in my head, "If i did the right thing, why did i feel guilty" I wanted to ask the cop this but he counter attacked by asking about the dents and holes in the door. I looked over at the door and recognized knife holes. 7 of them. I told him i didn't know. Not wanting to get my dad in more trouble then he already was. But butterflies bustled all through my stomach and new idea came to my head.What if I could save my mom?I retold the story frame by frame.
I didn't save my mom. I also don't wear ponytails anymore.