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Non-Fiction
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| Childhood memories.. | |
| By Leo | ||||||||||||||||||||||
| 25 May 2006 | ||||||||||||||||||||||
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This is a very personal piece. Unlike other work, i think i actually wrote this for me. It’s 1977… I am nine years of age.. It was the sort of scream that you felt as well as heard. I awoke with a start, leaving my dreams behind. My heart was racing. It was happening again. It was just after 2 am on my snoopy clock, and my father had just arrived home. He had been drinking all day, again. When he drank, the jealousy and hate consumed him. I’m aware of the fact that I’m crying already, before I’m even fully awake. I just want him to stop. To leave my mum alone. Please leave my mum alone. “D’you wanna fuck him?.. Do you??… DO YOU!!” Always the same. I’m getting used to it. Accusations of infidelity. There is no one person that she is accused of consorting with. It’s just anyone who happens to be male and have been anywhere near her, for any reason; neighbours, friends and even family. He can’t seem to realise she wouldn’t do it. She loves him, or at least she loved him, I’m not sure which anymore. All I do know, is that she is absolutely terrified. Begging him to believe her, and pleading with him to leave her alone. The next scream coincides with the sound of splintering furniture. She is screaming again, and again like some terrified and wounded animal facing a likely death. My little brother is 5. He stands silhouetted in my bedroom doorway; scared, confused and sobbing. I hold open my arms and he climbs into my bed. We cuddle and cry together. I kiss his forehead as I hold him close, and tell him mum will be all right. It almost feels safe, beneath the warmth of the covers, but it’s only a matter of time before there is more screaming and shouting and pleading. Never once over the years did any of the neighbours intervene, I think this was because they were terrified of my dad. I didn’t blame them, even then. I understand what it was to be afraid. The gaps between the outbursts have increased. He is probably close to unconsciousness, as the alcohol finally renders him senseless, or my mum has managed to somehow pacify him. I find myself straining to listen, to see if I can hear them conversing in normal tones. This usually means the worst is over. Please..please..please I say over and over again. Like a prayer to some higher power who will hear me and make my dad normal. Sobbing to myself, I cuddle my brother close. And then, finally, the emotional exhaustion overwhelms me and a fitful sleep comes… By the time I awake my dad has already left for work. My mum never says anything. She just busies herself with the ritual of getting me and my brother ready for school. The only visible reminders of the night before, are my mum’s puffy eyes and the hole in the kitchen door. It’s about shoulder height so it was probably a fist. This time any way. Other times, he had used his feet and even other pieces of furniture. Years later I was to learn that he had sometimes sat her on the sofa with a knife to her throat and even held his shotgun against the back of her head. Always the same, trying to test her denials of infidelity to breaking point. Anyway, it was time for school and we headed out of the front door. We walked down the road to our school, where my mum would wave us goodbye as we ran up the school path to it’s entrance. As I waved goodbye when I reached the top of the path, I was already dreading what the night would bring..
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