Mother and Mum

The walls shake as the thundering screams erupt from the living room. The cat ran outside ages ago, it’s like she senses the storm before we others do. Days like this often happen when she hasn’t slept well. From the bright and early sunrise you can tell she has a cold sort of stare in her eyes. But someway, somehow she always seems to surprise us, time upon time we fail to avoid it, and time upon time I witness mum fight for me.  

 Most of the time I manage by hiding under my bed, and it’s almost like she doesn’t even realise that I could be home (if she had realised, you would’ve known), but my sister and mum don’t do that. They continuously put up the fight, and they never back down until there’s no other choice.  

 If I told anyone about it they’d barely believe me, I think. She seems so warm and loveable at dinner parties, at birthdays, at gatherings. You would never in a million years be able to tell what happens as soon as she couldn’t sleep last night.  

 But here I am, trying to block out the barbaric sounds coming from the other side of the wall by tugging my thin fingers into my earholes. Mum screams at Mother to stop as my sister’s cries tear at me as if lasers were cutting through my senses. And this is exactly the reason I don’t manage to stay under my bed some of the times - when my sister screams like that, my heart begs me to do something. She turns on some serious alarms within me, and I leap out from my safe space, pull the door open, and I sprint through the hall and into the large room designed for the perfect family, where what looks like a play is taking place. A play written with dark, dark humour. Instantly I let my tears fall, and before I know it I’m tearing the two people apart, forcing Mother to let go of my sister.  

 With all of my might I pull her off of my sister, and as my left hand holds tight on Mother’s shoulder, I pull my right hand pack, pump it into a threatening fist, and punch her right in her fake face. Mum is tearing herself apart in the corner, but I continue. I put up the fight that I never knew was in me - and obviously neither did Mother. I don’t stop hitting her until her nose is bleeding, and she’s crying. She doesn’t even try to hit me back, and when I think she’s about to do so, I distract her with another punch aimed at her mouth and crooked front-teeth.  

 My sister now has her hand on my left shoulder, and wants my attention. I kick a bruised version of Mother right in the stomach (I have no idea how my leg reached that high, but it did), and I push her away from me. Her fragile self falls down to the floor, comforting her smashed face. She deserved every one last bit of it.  

 I turn to my sister and hug her, both of us drowning in our own tears. Mum is now standing in between me and my sister and Mother, not being able to decide where would be best to be. Mother does not look intimidating lying on the floor like that, not in the least.  

 But I won. I really put up that fight, and I won, and I was able to help my sister. Mum feels bad that I saved my sister and that she didn’t, but I don’t think she feels bad for Mother. She shouldn’t.

Mum, my sister and I have been lying in my room for a couple of hours, holding each other. I think Mother’s been washing up. We have to leave soon anyway, but none of us three want to get up. In here we’ll always be three against one - if Mother decides to enter, that is. And in the midst of our silence and thoughts, is when we hear a knock. None of us answer, so after a moment the door opens ajar, and Mother sticks her head in. She’s not bleeding anymore, but she is looking very bruised. Wonder what she’s planning to blame that on. 

 ‘Come on, let’s go.’ 

She says in a calm voice, like nothing ever happened. Us, lying tight in my bed, stare at her without making eye-contact until she retracts herself from the room and closes the door again. We share another silent and calm moment, this time full of mental preparation before we all leave the bed and quickly fix ourselves up. We have all of our things in my room already - this is barely the first time this has happened.  

 With Mum first, we move towards the door. When we open it, we walk quietly out of it and see Mother sitting on a chair in the dining room. 

 ‘You ready?’ 

She says again in a calm voice, as if having forgotten the previous scenes of horror. We nod anxiously, and together, once we have our shoes on, we step out into the sun and move slowly towards the car.  

 I don’t know what it’ll be today - we usually first find out once we’re there and she has to use it - but I suspect she’ll be working hard to make a suitable excuse for the marks I left on that thing she calls her face. I never knew I had it in me. 

 The dynamic between us has definitely altered to a whole new level, and the tension is palpable even as we stroll awkwardly down the driveway. I’ll have to feel this new hierarchy in different situations first, but I think it’s safe to say that I’m pleased and satisfied with my actions and where they led me. 

 So as we reach the car, open it, and sit ourselves down, I gasp at the heat within the vehicle, appreciate the summer day, and continue to prepare myself mentally to act completely civil and casual at my cousin’s birthday - which we’re already fifteen minutes late to - and I can guarantee you, the rest of my family, and probably also Mother, will be doing this too.