The bottle shattered as glass met plaster. He screamed, the sound ricocheting off the low sloped ceiling. I crouched in the corner, heart beating three times its regular rate, completely terrified. I’d never seen such raw emotion in my nine years on this earth. I covered my ears with both hands, clenching my teeth, trying to shut out the ugly sound as best I could. Still the profanities pierced through my defenses. I was trembling in fear. A lamp exploded three feet to my right as he chucked the cordless phone across the room. I launched myself sideways to dodge the bullets of blue and yellow ceramic flowers. Then it stopped. As the last shard of the lamp fell to the ground, the room became silent. It was overwhelmingly still after the destruction it had just seen. The room was still. Nothing moved. It was almost as if it was holding its breath. I, sitting amongst the rubble, held my breath as well. Looking up from my crouch I glanced around the room. It was in shambles. In the middle, against the couch, lay the crumpled form of my father. His body was shaking, yet I could hear no sound. I inched closer, afraid of a sudden outburst. The closer I got the better I could hear him. Faintly at first, then slowly growing in volume; my father was crying. Something I’d never seen him do before. He wasn’t just teary-eyed, he was full out sobbing into the cushions. Each sob tore through his body as he choked for breath. I didn’t know what to do. So I sat down silently in the leather arm chair, staring at the torn paper clutched in his hands.
If you knew me two months earlier, you would never recognize me now. I used to be an innocent little nine year old. I was living the glory days, or that’s how I saw them anyways. I watched cartoons in the morning with my dad, headed off to school, and then returned home to snacks with mom. Everything was wonderful. I had not a care in the world past what bedtime story I would read. Then, sometime around February, my mom started to leave home a lot more. I’d come home to a babysitter and a sticky note on the fridge saying “I owe you cookies”. I stopped waiting for the cookies long before the notes stopped. Her absence became a normal part of life, I got used to it. I was told she had extra work at the office. Occasionally I’d hear a fight or two between my mom and dad, but I didn’t think much of it. Until they caught me watching, then it became hushed whispers, often behind closed doors. I didn’t know what it was all about.
I learned I had to grow up, and grow up fast. I had to fade into the background, and learn to listen. I soon found out that my mom had a new friend. This guy named Carl. He sometimes came over when my dad was at work. I quickly learned my dad did not like Carl. He came home one day and saw them; then pretty much threw Carl out the door. I didn’t see much of Carl after that. Mom and dad stopped talking, I was silent, the house echoed with the quiet. I thought things might get better. There were no more fights, there was no more Carl, and I got cookies again. I thought we might get back to normal. That was, until my dad opened the mail today and I caught a glimpse of the one word that’d thrown him over the edge. Divorce.
