Here, Waiting It Out

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
About when parents fight.

Submitted: January 12, 2012

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Submitted: January 12, 2012

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The anticipation is worse than the actual fight. No matter how loud or violent or no matter what gets thrown - verbally or physically - the waiting is worse than the game.

Each round has a starting point - a door slam. Whether it be a car door, a back door, or a bedroom door, that's how the waiting part of the game starts. It's always him that starts the game. It's always him that slams the door. Then he goes upstairs, and it's silent. I don't know who starts it. But someone does. Then all Hell breaks loose.

The silence is shattered by a quick movement in an old chair, the shocks squeaking and groaning as he flings himself to his feet. He starts yelling and shouting things nobody can make out, his face beat red, spit flying, eyes bulging, total change of demeanor. Like a mad dog, now that I think about it.

Her favorite lines are, "Are you done yet?" and, "Keep on, James, keep on." But the volume and voices are easy to block out. Music, meditation, going outside. They can all make you ignore the argument. But the silence can't be drowned out.

It's deafening, crushing and pressing down on you, falling over you like an itchy, thick wool blanket. If you listen to music, it echoes around and bounces back, letting you know how terribly alone you really are. Meditation brings it down upon you faster. Going outside is just as bad, because you don't know what to do yourself.

But when he explodes, and the silence shatters like a mirror getting shot with a bullet, the situation comes crashing down on you. Your parents are fighting and in three days they'll still be acting like enemies, making you feel like it's World War III.

What hurts the most is that you can't stop them without hurting them, and it ends up that it feels better to cry alone in the dark, wait it out, and let everything fall back into place, even that thick silence that started everything.


© Copyright 2017 Cayli Ann. All rights reserved.

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