“For this!” she screams, throwing the useless bits of plastic at him. “I work too, you fucking bastard!”
“Fucking bitch!”
He takes a step towards her, but she snatches another bottle, brandishing it like a knife.
“Put it down,” he orders.
“What if I don’t?”
“Put it down,” he repeats through gritted teeth.
“Why should I? I’m not Sara. You can’t order me around,” she goads. “You don’t want me spending money, but you can drink until you can’t see straight. It’s a wonder you can get it up at all anymore.” She chucks the bottle, hitting the wall wide to the right of the first one.
Father charges and tackles her to the ground.
“Get off me!” she yells, throwing her fists wildly.
“I can’t get it up anymore, huh?”
“Yeah. Not like there’s much to it when it is anyway.” She laughs sadistically.
“I’ll show you.”
He pins her arms over her head with one hand and rips her blouse open with the other; pearl buttons skitter across the wood floor.
I sneak back outside before I see anything else. I sit in the middle of the grass and sing to make sure I can’t hear anything going on inside.
Every show or song I know is because of my friendship with Arissa.
A second voice joins mine, startling me, and I check over my shoulder.
“What did you stop for?” Arissa asks.
“You scared me. What are you doing back here, Riss?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” She plants herself next to me. “I was at the front door and no one answered.”
“Oh. Well, Ozzie and Harriet decided to fight, then make up on the spot.”
“Ew!”
We’re quiet for a moment. We never really talk about the differences between our parents. It would violate the rule about not talking about family. The one I sometimes break without giving details when I’m frustrated.
But, I notice things and I know she does as well. It’s hard not to. It’s even harder to ignore it the more I get to know her and her parents.
“Do your parents fight?” I ask.
“If they do, I’ve never seen or heard them.”
“That must be nice.”
“What?”
“Peace and quiet.”
“Oh.” She pauses briefly, as if she’s never thought about it before. “Yeah, I guess it is. Do you want to sleep over tonight?”
“Su—“
“Sara!”
Father stands in the sliding doorway.
“Call me,” Arissa whispers as she gets up to leave.
“What was she doing here?” he asks, scowling when I step into the house.
The stench of liquor permeates the air.
“She wants me to spend the night,” I answer.
“Why didn’t she come to the front door?”
“She said she did, but no one answered.”
He mumbles something under his breath.
“Can I sleep over at Arissa’s?”
“Shut up and clean the mess in the kitchen,” he orders instead of answering my question.
“Bu—“
“Don’t start with me!”
I look down at the grungy area rug. The previous owners left it when they moved out. It was already old when my parents bought the house and they never replaced it. Too busy shopping and drinking to think about a new area rug.
“Get in there!” He seizes me by the arm again, jolting me out of my subservient trance and hauls me to the kitchen.
Amber liquid stains the wall and coats the floor along with sharp glass.
He shoves me into the mess and I slip, throwing my hands out to catch my fall. A sharp jarring sensation shoots through my left elbow as my hand hits the ground. I roll to my right, oblivious of the liquid and glass, screaming as pain takes over.
“Shut up!”
I hold my arm and cry, “I think my elbow is broken.”
This isn’t the first broken bone threatening to suffocate me in agony and blackness.
“Don’t be such a fucking baby. Clean up this mess.”
I push myself up with my left arm cradled to my abdomen. On my way to the sink I notice blood seeping from the glass shards stuck in my hands and arms. The systematic process my brain uses for these situations kicks in: do this first, then that. Drudgery.
I rinse the blood off, then pick out the glass. My arm rings out in agony when I move it, making it useless for my task.
I do the work with my right arm, and if it wasn’t for my injured elbow, it would be almost comical. I survey the kitchen and start with the edges where there is no visible glass.
My right arm is sore by the time I finish and take some ibuprofen.
Searing pain continues to radiate from my elbow in the shower. I want to give up while getting dressed as