Biggest Fear

Biggest Fear

    I will never forget, upon entering, what I said, “Ah, a shower! There is nothing better than an opportunity to simply wash it all away!”

    “All” didn’t last long, however.

    As soon as I began to place shampoo upon my head to scrub the flakes of trailer-trash lice off of my skull, the incessant pounding on the door commenced.

    I hollered as loud as could, “It is my time! Leave me alone!” 

    My sister pounded again and uttered something I couldn’t quite understand as the enclosed area, coupled with sprinkling drops from the head, hindered the ability to construe the words she muttered.

    Until, finally, as I watched a rather strange mixture of dirt, oil, and strange minute objects fall from my head, I stepped away into a corner.

    “mom, Mom, Mom, MOM!” heightened in intensity outside the door as I came to understand the sense of urgency in my sister’s voice.

    Without even thinking, I sprung open the musty shower curtain, grabbed a towel to wrap myself, and opened the door.

    Draped in a towel herself, obviously waiting for her turn to rid the stench herself, my sister stood shivering in utter fear.

    Somewhat upset that she had interrupted the only ‘good’ thing we as kids got to experience during this time in our lives, I shouted, “What? Why are you screaming like that? You’ve never done it before.”

    Stunned beyond speaking ability, my sister mustered to fight through the fear and raise her hand and pointed. 

    As I walked towards the doorway that led to the small hallway that led to the kitchen/living room/dining room/well, my bedroom (those that have lived in a trailer, I am sure you can relate) the sound of loud ‘thumps’ echoed throughout. As I approached the area, the sounds began to rivet violently, like there was actually some kind of construction worker jack – hammering just outside the window.

    When finally arriving to the location that caused my sister to run and disrupt my only escape from every day living, I stood there, watching.

    With every angry thrust of my mother’s head into the dense aluminum walls of the trailer I had lived in since it all happened, I did nothing, but watch.

    Her so-called man-friend wisped his golden locks my way and simply smiled. Somewhat afraid that he might do the same to me, I shifted to the face of my mother. It was like she wasn’t even there. Her head was covered in blood, her face totally distorted, and nothing seemed to even be behind the eyes I now stared into.

    It was then that something behind my very will just took over. In utter rage, I sprinted as fast as I have ever ran and with a lowered head, exploded through the midsection of my mother’s nightly caller.

    Throwing me aside like I was some kind of daddy longed leg spider that fell from above, I found myself clenched in between a long cabinet and a trash can full of the night’s beverages the two had certainly over consumed.

    Knowing that I couldn’t overcome the drunkard beast, I simply let it out!

    “It is not fair! Let her go! It is not fair! Let her go!”

    Somewhat perplexed about what I was saying, the fool slammed my mother’s head one last time, turned, and solemnly stood.

    His face was still full of anger. He wasn’t done. Coldly, he walked towards me. His steel-toed work boots rocked the flimsy, cheap constructed bottom of the trailer. An Earthquake was clearly headed my way.

    He was, maybe two feet away, when he slobbered, “What d’ya mean kid? It’s not fair.”

    I didn’t want to have to endure what my mother had gone through, no way!, so, again, I let it all out!

    “I was supposed to do that! I’ve been planning it for years! You have no idea what my sister and I have to put up with every day! We wake up in the morning to no breakfast. She beats us for not cleaning up the mess that the likes of you and her make every day. We come home from school and she is passed out on the couch. But, when she wakes up again, she beats us for not making dinner. When we tell her that there is nothing in the fridge or cupboards to make, she beats us again. Because she doesn’t want to hear us ‘whine’, she throws us outside and locks the door. Do you know what it is like to be outside in a place like this? Not to mention the 110 degree average temperature in Arizona! After a couple of Bloody Mary’s she makes after doing so, she loosens up and lets us in. After scrounging through garbage cans for scraps, all we want to do is take a shower. To wash it all away. For what? To see our mom be killed by another man! I am supposed to that!!”

    Lowering his head, totally confused, and somewhat in agreement with what the boy had told him, the man picked up his shirt that lain loosely over the couch, walked towards the door, took one final look at the boy’s mother, and left.

    A neighbor nearby that doesn’t partake in the sins of nature (again, if you have ever lived in a trailer park, you know what those sins are) called 911 and within minutes after the man-friend departed, police and ambulance crews arrived.

    It was the longest night I could ever recall. As I sat in one of those gross vinyl chairs outside the room where my mother rested, I just kept hoping that my father would arrive and take us all away.

    I knew it was bound to happen. After the beating she took, there was no way it would last much longer. 

    The waiting continued, however, until a doctor emerged from her room and sat next to my sister and I.

    “Hi kids!”, he said “I know this has been tough on both of you! But, she is going to be just fine! We will keep her overnight just to make sure, but she should be home in the morning!”

    With the announcement, my sister and I looked at one another. 

    Looks that clearly confirmed that our biggest fear remained. And … what we had both hoped to be, would have to wait . . . perhaps . . . another year.