One Mixed Tape

I remember suddenly another time when my parents had gone at it, full throttle. About how it had changed me forever. How that was when I started to realize terrible things. When horrific events would take place. I was scared.
~  ~  ~  ~  ~
         We were sitting at the dinner table, ready to eat haystacks. Then my parents  were upstairs in their room yelling like nobody could hear them. I sat, stared ahead, a blank face. My mind was trying to numb itself, my hears trying not to hear, and my body trying not shake. As hard as I tried, I couldn't stop the tears that ran silently, one at a time, down my cheeks. All four of us kids just sat there. Staring at nothing, watching the food get cold. I could see fear in my brother's face. Then hate and anger in my older sisters. Both of them thinking at that moment how it would always be his fault, no matter what.
         I was sitting, my hands in my lap, and shaking. There was a hush upstairs, was it over? But no it wasn't. That was my hope jumping to conclusions as fast as possible because it was scared too. I could hear things slamming and suddenly glass was breaking upstairs and my mom was screaming.
         MY MOM WAS UPSTAIRS SCREAMING!
         And I couldn't do a thing about it.
         We all jumped. Looked at one another. I let out a muffled scream that was more of a noisy sob. My insides were misplaced. My stomach by my heart which was coming up through my throat. I began to cry harder because I didn't know what to do. I could see the look on my older sisters faces. This was unacceptable. They were ready to go do something. They wanted, needed to do something. We all needed to protect our mother. Our mother who screamed when there was glass was breaking and a door slamming. My sisters were frozen in their seats, staring at one another, and then, just as quickly as their hatred had increased, their bodies were in action. Lainie heading up the stairs, Amy hugging my brother, patting me on the back and saying that it was okay. I was ready to jump out of my seat and run after my sister and tell her no. Drag her back to the kitchen where my brother and sister were. I could see us quietly leaving out the back door. Walking down the street, the older two with their hands on mine and my brother's shoulders. I could see us leaving and going to the park to play. To have fun. To forget. To be able to go back home the whole episode erased. To walk in, sit down, and have a meal, as a family. A happy family. A talking family. A laughing, loving, just-like-a-movie, family at the dinner table. But my sister was yelling down the hallway.
         "You guys stop it! You're scaring the kids."
         "Shut the fuck up and stay out of this."
         Had my dad really said that? Had my mom still not said a word? My sister came back down, seething with putrid hate, undeniable anger.
         I was crying harder. Everything upstairs was quiet and I didn't know what was going on. I wanted to cry out, "Mom?!" I wanted to run upstairs open their door and give her a hug. I wanted to hide from this but I couldn't turn to her. I couldn't do anything.
         We were all sitting again. Staring. Silent. We all looked to the doorway of our kitchen. We had heard the barely audible click of the master bedroom door. We heard footsteps, so dazed by our fear and hate and anger that we weren't sure whose footsteps they were. Our mom walked around the corner. I don't know how long it had been, but I knew how it felt. How it felt like time wouldn't stop ticking away. How I sat there unsure of everything and scared to find out. Scared because I didn't know if my mom was coming down the stairs, if she ever would.
         My brother was the first to ask what we had all been dying to know.
         "Mom? Are you okay?"
         "Yeah. I'm fine."
         She acted like nothing had happened. She had come down, not looking flushed, or angry. She didn't look sad or hurt. She looked like she always did when she came down to dinner. When she walked in to serve her family. She said okay, and began to check the temperature of everything to see if it needed to be heated up again. My tears had dried but I hadn't really moved. Only relaxed my shoulders a little bit.
         My mom asked me what I wanted.
         "Red chilli or green chilli?"
         "I'm not hungry. I don't want to eat."
                             I had barely squeaked out the words when I felt the glances that passed between by my
sisters. Then the look they gave my mother. She told me I needed to eat. I didn't want to. I wasn't hungry. My stomach had hardly begun to move back down into my abdomen. She told me that I was hungry, I just didn't know it. She shrugged her shoulders and said that if I got hungry later, oh well. It was my fault for not eating now. I got up, walked out of the kitchen and began to turn upstairs to go to my room. I realized that I couldn't. I would have to walk right past my father's door. The closed one that had what behind it? An angry man? One who would what? Hurt me. That is what I was afraid of. I was worried that something would happen to me. I had just walked onto dangerous and hostile ground.
         I sat on the stairs and began to cry. My sister came out. She sat next to me and put an arm on my shoulder.
         "Mom's right you know. You should eat something it will make you feel better. It helped me before."
         I looked at her, knowing that she was right. Knowing that she'd had her fair share of moments just like this. Moments when she had cried. I went back into the kitchen. Unsure of how to feel. I had just realized how un-perfect life really was. How parents weren't always the greatest thing. I had realized that I wouldn't always be able to turn to my mom, that she wouldn't always be there. I also realized how hard my sisters' lives had been. When I was young, when I wasn't around. And who did they have to turn to? My oldest brother. I began to wish that he was here at the table with us. Here sitting where my father was suppose to be. I imagined that our life went back to the way it should have been, with a few exceptions.
         Just the five of us kids and our mom.
         I reluctantly sat down. Chose the green chilli, taking my sister Amy's advice that it was the better one. The conversation switched to the meal. How we hadn't had these in a while. How good they were: life changed. For a brief time I was happy. Oblivious to the fight and everything surrounding it. Suddenly hungry, I laughed and used my fingers to eat the fries that had that green chilli my sister liked so much slathered on them. Life was like a movie. But then dinner ended. Dinner ended and I completely forgot what it was not to be scared.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
         Sitting here I have lingering feelings. My stomach feels full of haystacks, and like it's still settling into my abdomen. I can still see the vision of the dark hallway leading to my parent's bedroom looming before me. I feel small.

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I remember the first time he had come to tell me.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
My parents had been on edge for a few days. I had been sure that every time some puny thing happened they'd start fighting. If somebody took too long passing the salt, my constantly irritable father would roll his eyes and sigh loudly. He would shake his head, as though we had done something ridiculously stupid, as he added salt to his meal. Then he'd slam the shaker down in anger and roll his eyes again. Stupid. Little. Things.
This time, I didn't actually know how bad the argument was. I had my music turned up and was slowly progressing on my homework. They had fought before I'd gotten home and afterwards had other small spats. I was in no mood for this and had so much homework to do. I was determined to finally ignore it completely.
My brother came into my room after the argument had moved into the bedroom. He was upset . . . . angry, sad. . . . crying. . . . This was not like my brother. I asked him to tell me what was wrong but all he did- all I assumed he could do- was shake his head. He tried to tell me but he couldn't, so he slammed his fist on my window sill.
The one time I had decided to ignore it was the one time I should've been listening.
"Okay. Joey, just calm down. . . . . you don't have to tell me right away, but I do need you to tell me." I didn't know what it was, so the worst of scenarios was in my head. I needed my brother to tell me because if e couldn't tell me, then he couldn't tell somebody who could help, and with the images in my head, we were going to need help.
"No, it's just. . . ." My brother was seething, inhaling and exhaling viciously through his teeth, white foam was forming at the sides of his mouth and his knuckles wer white as he gripped his hair with an angry fist.
He continued trying to tell me, hurling out painful words in small, hasty bursts. I just's, He just's, and Ugh's always came after his fist hit something.
"God! It's so stupid." And his foot was kicking the side of my bed.
"Joey, you need to calm down. You don't want them to hear you and come up."
"I don't care."
"You will." I hadn't meant to snap at him. I could tell he knew I was right. If either my mother or father had come up because they'd heard his angry, physical release-  things would only get worse.
"You know what he said, Carmen?" He had hurt eyes.
"No, buddy, I'm sorry."
"He said. . . ." he inhaling deeply. "He said that, the only reason he married mom was. . . . . . GOD!" This time, he punched my window. I stood up from my chair and grabbed his arm.
"Joey." I sat on the bed and he leaned against the window again. He was crying now, more tears. I stood up to rub his back just to calm him down.
"Joey, I really need you to tell me buddy." I still didn't have the slightest clue what my brother could be trying to say. Every Hollywood horror was racing through my mind. I just didn't want to believe that any of them were true. I had never seen him like this, so worked up and so angry. He was truly upset. It wasn't that mom-had-just-told-him-to-clean-his-room upset, it was something that was truly bothering him. He seemed angry and even a little scared.
"He said that she was only. . . . . only good for," he inhaled deeply, "For blow jobs." I bit my lip and shook my head. I could feel my emotions beginning to boil over. I let my anger take over again.
"Carmen, do you know what that is?" I had to laugh. Was I this innocent to my brother?
"Yes. I do." He pounded his fist again.
"I can't see her doing that. It's so gross." Oh.
"I know," and I gave him sympathetic eyes. This was like the time in the Growing and Changing unit at my school when somebody said they thought it was to imagine their grandparents "doin' it." Everyone, of course, laughed and had an image of their parents "doin' it." I laughed and made gross faces, but part of me was scared. There was no time in my life when sex had been for the girls pleasure. It had always been painful for them, and the only girls who did it often, or did those "gross things," were portrayed as sluts.
"I can't believe he makes her do that." Oh, no.
"Joey. What he said was wrong but you have to know that he doesn't make her do it. . . . . ." and I stopped. I suppose I didn't really know that and it was so easy to see him demanding such a thing out of my mother. I couldn't let my brother think this, my mom was not his sex slave, but I didn't know what to say. It was like trying to answer the infamous question, "Where do babies come from?" to the child you are only babysitting.
"Joey, I know it's gross. But, sometimes, people do gross things." Okay, okay, where am I going? What am I saying? "Umm, she does it because she is okay with it, like he doesn't force her to do it. She agrees. . . ." That sounded horrible. I couldn't say that she wanted to, that scared me. I got the chills. I did not want to talk about this.
"But it's so gross."
"I know, I know. I think so too, but think of it like this. You know how you and Michael always eat the core of the apple? And me and Kenny think that it's gross. It's kinda like that."
"No, Carmen, it's different."
"I know that. But it's similar. Even though I think it is gross, and it kind of makes me sick to watch you do it, you still do it because, you like the apple core."
"There's nothing wrong with the core. Besides you don't want to waste the apple. It taste the same as the other apple." Wait, what? It was that easy to distract him? That easy to steer his no longer innocent mind off of a terrible realization?
Then my mom came in. Perfecting timing, I thought. My brother walked out of the room, angry and wet faced.
"Is he okay?'
"I think you better talk to him," and she rolls her eyes.
"What is he upset about?"
"He's angry about something, Dad said." She was shaking her head, like she thought my brother just needed to realize that sometimes when people are angry, they say stupid things. She probably figured it was about something he said about us kids. She didn't realize that my brother had simply been scared for her. He was so innocent. We were the Brady Bunch in his eyes. It was almost sweet of him to think this way about us. I remember realizing things like this. I knew how scared my brother was, how freaked out he was. I wished I could have helped him, told him something to bring him comfort, instead I just stumbled around the first words I could think of.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I shook from the memory.
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I was in the seventh grade. Both my brother and I were getting ready to leave. My mom had woken me up before she went to jury duty, then I got my brother up so he could be to school on time. My dad was still in his room. Weird, he usually went to work long before I woke up. I was headed up to the bathroom to brush my teeth, my brother was starting his bowl of cereal. Our phone rang. This early? When I checked the caller I.D. I was relieved to see that it was only my mother, probably calling to talk to my dad, or remind my brother or I of something.
  "Hi, Mom."
  "Hi, Carmen. Could you go get Dad?"
  "Yeah, just a sec." I skipped steps up the stairs to my parents door. I was slightly nervous to knock   
  "Hey, Dad? Mom's on the phone for you.'
  "Okay." His words hit me, a little harsh and angry. I hated that. He always did that. If we ever knocked on a door that he was behind he would answer, irritated like we had interrupted him right after he had just told us not to do. I went back downstairs to hang up the kitchen phone. I pushed my ear to the speaker to make sure that my dad had answered before I hung up. I heard my mom say hello. He must've picked up.
    I went on getting ready for school. Brushed my teeth, and washed my face then off to my room to get dressed and grab my back pack. When I got back down stairs to grab my lunch off the table and put it in my back pack the phone rang again. Weird.
  It was my mom again.
  "Mom? Did you and my dad get disconnected?"
  "Umm, no sweetie. Could you put him on the phone please."
  "Okay." My mom's voice was quavering, she was on the edge of crying. Or was she crying?
      "Dad? It's mom again."
  "No. Tell her I don't want to talk to her." His words slapped me again. Except this time, it was harder. I went back downstairs.    "Mom? He said he doesn't want to talk to you. What's going on?"
  "The truck broke down and I'm gonna be late. Please go tell your father I need to talk to him." I took the phone with me this time.
  "Dad? Mom says she really needs to talk to you."
  "Fine." Okay good, he was going to talk to her. I pressed my ear to the phone again, making sure that my dad picked it up. I heard a click. My dad had just hung up on my mom. This is when I realized that's what happened the first time. They were fighting, and I was in the middle.
  "Mom?"
  "Carmen? Please go put your father on the phone."
  "No. Mom, I don't want to. I'm scared."
  "Carmen," that quavering voice again. "Please. There's no reason to be scared. I really need to talk to him. I will get in trouble if I don't go to jury duty." I was beginning to hate jury duty. I had always heard adults talk about how crappy it was, how much they hated it, all the ways to get out of it, and now I had my own reason to hate it.
  "He'll yell at me."
  "You won't get in trouble. You're not doing anything wrong. Your doing what I'm telling you to." 
  "Dad?" Tears were streaming down my face as I knocked on the door. I closed my eyes- waiting for his response. Waiting to tell him what I knew he didn't want to hear. This is what it was like to be the messenger. I hope I don't get shot.
  "What?" I jumped at his word. Glad that he wasn't coming to the door. I didn't want to see him, and I didn't want him to see me.
  "Mom wants to talk to you. Her truck is broken down."  "That's not my problem." I turned away.
  "Mom? He's not gonna talk to you. I gotta go, Mom. What do I do? I don't want to miss the bus."
  "It's okay. Go ahead and go or you won't be able to get to school." She was really crying now. I said I loved her and that I was sorry. I was so scared. I couldn't do what my mom wanted. I was suppose to help her, to be strong. I always thought that when they argued it was stupid. It could be handled with simple and calm words. I realized now that it wasn't so easy. I wanted to bad to mediate and get my dad to talk to my mom, but he was so much bigger- bigger than me and bigger than my brother. He was also stronger than the both of us combined. I grabbed my lunch and started heading out the door. I told Joey that dad was in a bad mood so he should be quiet. Then I told him that if mom called to answer it.
  I walked out the door and started running down the street. I wasn't late but I wanted to get away. I was scared, I was worried and I had just left my brother. I wanted to bad to stay with him, but if I missed the bus I would have to ask my dad for a ride, and I couldn't do that. I really didn't want to walk into school late and have to tell a lie. Or the truth. I didn't want to hide any of this to protect me and my family but I didn't want to tell the truth either. . . . .I was ashamed.
  I slowed down before I got to the corner I had to turn to get to the bus stop. I dried my tears. Nobody could see me cry. I sat on the bus, alert. I sat erect so I could see out the window. I looked in the Target parking lot as our bus drove by and sure enough, there was my mom's truck. I slumped and closed my eyes, but quickly opened them. I didn't know what was going on.
  I was quiet throughout my first hour but soon the whole morning slipped my mind. I went about slightly reserved but not enough for anybody to say anything. I happily walked into my seventh hour: choir- the cure for everything. I had a great teacher, great friends and a ton of fun everyday in this class. I got to sing. Today was suppose to be really good. We were working on the choreography for our mini musical: The History of Rock N' Roll. I had a speaking part and we got to sing Bohemian Rhapsody. . . life was good. But then, the note came.
  Scribbled on a green sheet of paper, the one everybody had hoped was for them, was a note that said "Carmen, Don't take the bus home, Mom is picking you up."
  Wait. My mom was picking me up? Her car had broken down. And why would she do that? She had never done it before and it wasn't a special occasion.
  "What's that for, Carmen?" My teacher asked, noticing my puzzled expression.
  "Umm. . . ." oh no. This was it. The morning came flooding back to me and the pit of stomach was feeling the pressure of a ball of confusion and fear. Was that a tear?
  It was. I knew because my teacher was coming to my side and telling me to come into her office.
  "What's up?"
  "The note says my mom is suppose to pick me up from school today." An assumed look of confusion flirted across her face.
  "My mom's car broke down this morning. . . . " and there I was, spilling out everything. Anger, fear, confusion and tears, all for her to see. She gave me a hug and told me sorry. I shook my head. I hated when people said sorry like it was there fault. She told me to take my time and then come back into the classroom when I was ready.
  I grabbed a tissue, blew my nose and wiped my eyes. I wasn't going to miss today's class for this. No way.    After class, I lingered. I didn't have anywhere to be. No bus to catch and I had already gone to my locker. I began to walk outside, to wait because I couldn't really do much else.
  "Carmen." It was my teacher. I turned, unsure if I should be reluctant.
  "Yeah?"
  "You gonna be okay?"
  "I don't know." Those damn tears again. I held in all but one. Used my anger once again to gain control, or what I thought was control.
  "I know." She knows what? "It's stupid. Parents do a lot of things that kids should never have to deal with." I looked at her.
  "Sweetie, my dad was a drunk and my mom stood for it. I hated it." Why was I crying? I suddenly felt guilty. This wasn't that bad. Now I was even more ashamed.
  "Honey, I never had to be put in the middle so directly but believe me this will blow over." I was feeling so much better.
  "Thank-you." She smiled.
  "You deserve it sweet girl." I knew what she meant. She was always sure to tell me thank-you for being her T.A. I knew she was helping me out this time.
  When I walked outside my mom was heading across the parking lot to head into the school and find me. I waved to her.
  "Hey sweetie." I looked over to the direction she was steering me. Neither of our cars was there but instead, the car of a family friend.
  I got in the car. Said hi and waited. Wasn't anybody going to tell me what was going on?
I guess not. I sat back, quiet, and answered the typical small talk questions anybody on the planet could think to ask. How was your day? Did you learn anything new? Anything interesting happen? Do you have homework? You don't have soccer tonight do you? As usual, I answered robotically without even thinking. I realized then that we weren't steering towards my house. We were going else where.
  "Where are we going?"
  "To Dave and Holly's house." Not ours? What was up? I didn't mind. I really did like going over there and I figured the car was there, or my mom had been there and needed to pick something up maybe. I glanced at my brother. He looked like he knew something. When we got to the house my mom started talking with Holly immediately about going to our house and about calling my brother. Why would she need to call my brother? He lived in Loveland, he was in the army and she rarely made the effort to call them unless it was around a holiday or birthday or school break. Whatever. I started doing my homework. As I expected, Holly came to ask me what I was doing. She always seemed to interested. Perhaps because all of her daughters were up and out. This was her way of remembering things to reminisce. I told her about science and math, the poetry unit in English and the upcoming "mini musical" for choir. My mom was busy on the phone. We sat in silence for a while. My brother and I busy on our homework, my mom patiently sitting with us at the table and helping my brother if need be. Then I was helping my brother because my mom couldn't, or I had the smarts and knew it. Soon, Dave arrived at his home, almost surprised to see us. Then him and his wife and my mom went off to talk. Adults.
  I looked at my brother and he told me.
  "Dad, locked us out of the house." I wasn't sure what to do. Angry outburst? Silent shock? I went with puzzlement. How? Why? What did this mean?    My mom informed me that she was going to try to get in now that it was later in the day and nearing dinner time. I sat, and because I had nothing to do, watched Holly, busying herself in the kitchen and listening to her classical piano music that I found surprisingly comforting. My mom came home and it was dinner time. It was silent as we ate until Dave spoke up about an article he had read in his National Geographic about soccer in other countries. With a subject that everyone could relate to in one way or another, dinner continued and I put my mind on the one thing that always seemed to make me happy.
  I finished my homework and this is when we had to sit down and talk. My mom and my brother and me. So we wouldn't be going home and we would be staying here in Dave and Holly's house.
  "What about clothes? And brushing our teeth?" I knew the words had come out of my mouth with slight bitterness.
  "You can borrow something from Jessie. They have a few extra toothbrushes."
  So this was it? I would go to school tomorrow without having been to my own home for 24 hours. I had homework there. Homework that would be due the next day. I had things I needed. But no, I was going to have to sleep on the futon couch with the thick mattress in Jessie's office. Their oldest daughter lived with them but wasn't ever really home. Like I was going to sleep. My mom came to say good night to me. She had to share a bed with my brother and then I found out later from my brother, a toothbrush. I felt guilty. I had my own toothbrush and own room with my own bed while my mom and brother were sharing everything. I knew that it was because my brother couldn't stand to be away from my mom. I closed the door and sat on the futon.
  Her office was so quiet. I glance around. A stereo! Music! I had been dying all day. I wanted to sing and dance. But everyone else was asleep. It was 10 o' clock. Everybody else was sleeping. Or at least I thought they were. I heard a loud squeaking in the floor outside my door. I froze. It reminded me of the sound our floor made when my dad walked in or out of his room and by mine. I always froze just to see if he was stopping by my room. The door opened and I backed up on the futon a little bit. It was only Dave.
  "Tired?"
  "Not really." He looked at me like he knew that wasn't the whole truth but didn't say anything. He came and sat next to me. My eyelids blinked. I knew the tears were coming out of jealousy and out of desire. Why couldn't my dad be more like Dave? He asked me how my day was. Fine. Then he asked me how I thought my mom was doing. I told him exactly what I thought.   
  "My mom is fine. She is really strong and she has gone through a lot. She can handle this." I had no doubt in my mind that my mom had been through worse than this. I knew that in the end, she would make things right and life would go back to the way it was. . . . .almost. He smiled at me. Then he asked me how I was doing, if I understood what was going on. The first person who knew anything that asked me all day. I told him that I didn't know. I wasn't sure how to feel and I didn't really know what was going on. He told me. He actually told me what was going on without holding back or throwing excuse at me after every fact he relayed. Then he told me that it didn't really matter how I felt. No matter what I felt it was okay and when I figured it out, we could talk and he could help me. Perhaps help me get rid of anger, calm me if I was frightened, or say something to stop the tears. This was a movie moment. I gave him a look that I hoped said, "Thanks. You really helped me out and now I know how I feel."
  I told him that I was fine. Fine in the sense of- I could deal and the teachers ought to understand that I was having a few things going on in (or rather outside of) my house. So this was to be the routine for tomorrow. Unless of course something changed during the day in which case, my mom would make sure I knew.
  I got up the next morning feeling much better, almost refreshed even though I hadn't gotten much sleep. I re-read the letter I had written to Jessie to leave on her desk for her to find the next time she came in to use her office. I set it by her keyboard and went downstairs for breakfast. I hadn't really thought to put regular clothes on for breakfast, I never did that at home. But I realized that I wasn't at home. I was at Dave and Holly's where it was probably a good idea to get dressed before showing up for breakfast. I began to go back upstairs until Holly asked me what I wanted. I sat down and chose cornflakes. Simple and it seemed like the box less used. When I went back up stairs I brushed my teeth and made my way to "my" room to get dressed. This is when I stopped. I didn't have any clothes to wear.   
  I found my mom and asked her what to do. I don't know why. It was obvious that I would be going to school in the same exact outfit that I had left in yesterday. I had asked because I hope there was some other answer my mom could give me. I wanted her to tell me something that wouldn't make this such a big deal. This was like social suicide in my school. I knew what happened to kids who did this. I had heard other people talk, I had occasionally spoke up myself. I knew people would notice. I didn't have deodorant, or body spray or lotion. What if I smelt bad?
  I didn't want to care about these things. If it weren't for the annoyance of everybody else, I suppose I wouldn't be worrying so much. Not to mention the fact that my teachers would notice. What would that say about me? What would they think? What if they asked questions? What was I suppose to say?    I put my clothes back on feeling instantly dirty. I couldn't remember the last time I had worn a pair of underwear two days in a row. I don't think I ever had.
  This wasn't fair. I gathered my back pack and headed downstairs. Grateful I wasn't going to have to catch a bus. My mom stopped me in the hallway and lead my downstairs to talk to me real quick.
  "I'm gonna go in with you to the office and leave a note."
  "Alright. . . . ?"
  " I don't want your dad to come and pick you up at school. I don't know what he'll do or if he'll try anything. I just want to be sure." Now my mind was racing.
  "Mom, what am I suppose to tell people who ask me questions?"
  "Just tell them you're having a family emergency. You don't have to tell them anything you don't want to." Good. Because I didn't want to tell them anything. I didn't want to cry about it because I knew I would. I would cry out of humiliation, shame and anger. Not to mention all the worrying that I would be doing all day. I didn't want to face this day. A building full of people. Strangers and acquaintances that couldn't possibly guess what was going on. My mom handed me money for lunch and I took it like I always did; with a certain amount of guilt and hesitancy. Financially comfortable was not a phrase I was familiar with. I always heard my parents complaining about it and I had come from living in a mobile home, going to the food bank, knowing exactly where every thrift store was but not knowing what Target was. I never asked for money unless it was for school or soccer. I had gotten a little more comfortable asking once in a blue moon to have school lunch and about once year (around my birthday) for movie money. I reluctantly put the two dollars in my back pocket.
  When I got to school I had almost forgotten that my mom was coming with me to leave that note. I didn't know you could do that, I didn't know how and I certainly didn't know who to talk to. We went to the main office and my mom started talking.
  "Hi. Umm, we are having a few problems at home and I want to make sure that her dad doesn't take her out of school without me knowing." She pointed her thumb back at me. I was so scared.
  The secretary began to ask questions. She wanted to know if my parents were divorced and this was some custody battle. Then I heard a voice behind me.
  "What's goin' on?" It was the dreaded Mrs. Grotoluschen. Mrs. G. for short. I had never met her before but I heard she was one hell of a disciplinary happy woman. An ex-army officer with short hair and a tan rough looking face. I began to rattle off to her like I was in the army and she was my officer. My back was straight and I almost saluted her. I was scared about what she would do to me.
  "My mom just doesn't want my dad to pick me up cuz there are things going on at home."
  "Okay, okay. That's fine." She walked over to the secretary grabbed the necessary papers and asked my mom to fill them out. I sat down in a chair across the doorway from my mom. As she neared the end and went to hand the [papers to the secretary.
  "Mom? What do I say if he comes to pick me up?"
  "Just tell him you have to go to your locker or that you can't miss class."   
  It was exactly as I had said before. I was scared to do that. I was scared to say no to my father and I didn't want him to be suspicious because then he would ask me questions and I wouldn't be able to answer them.
  I was heading to my locker before everyone else. They hadn't let anyone in but I really didn't want to go outside. I couldn't really face my friends. I would have to act like nothing was wrong. I couldn't do that. At least in class I would have more of a reason not to talk . . . teachers were always telling us to be quiet. I never thought I'd appreciate that.
      The real shock of how scared I was came to me when somebody walked into our class with a red pass. Would I be the "lucky" one?
  "Carmen." I froze. "Oh I'm sorry, it's for Sarah." For Sarah, it's for Sarah. The Devil must be toying with me. I settled back into my seat. Thankfully it was a quiet work day. . . a really nice and quiet work day.
  Now it was lunch time and I knew I would have to face my friends for more than a quick hello in the hallway. I had been preparing myself all day, at least when I wasn't freaking out about every red note I saw. I sat with my friends, put my normal facade on and mastered the art of changing the subject before it was too late.
  Outside we went through our normal routine of walking around from place to place saying hi to people we knew here and there. I went through my normal routine of hitting every group I talked to. . . which was just about everyone. Except today I didn't stay as long as I normally did. I only stopped at the one where I heard the words that made me hate my father without doubt.
  "Didn't she wear that outfit yesterday?" I had just left this group to talk to another one. The one group I felt I could tell about what was up at home and actually receive comfort. But I didn't want to. I stayed with them so I could hear everything that was said about me one group away. Yes, I was wearing the same clothes, I hope I didn't smell. I hadn't had gym yet.
  "That's gross." Gross. I know. I'm the one who has been wearing the same clothes all day. I feel it and I am conscious of it. I had tried to wear my light jacket but it was too warm. I couldn't sweat, that would make it worse. I crossed my arms over my chest and squinted my eyes against the sun.
  Now because of my father I would the gross girl who didn't change her clothes. The stupid one who didn't have a conscious when it came to personal hygiene. I had never been this self conscious before and I took pride in that. Now what did I have?
  I had a lot of baggage for a walk of shame through the halls of my middle school. I suppose that part of me was still realizing that my family wasn't perfect. Partly because we now had things to hide.
  Thankfully I had a few minutes to tell my music teacher how I was feeling. She told me not to fret and that I could just go out and get new clothes. . . it would make me fell better. Of course, I couldn't tell her that money wasn't something I was accustomed to using on a regular basis. Still she helped me. Who was anybody else to judge? If I told them what was up they wouldn't be saying these things. . . .and because I wasn't going to tell them, I had to deal with listening to them.
  After the school day was over, I felt like I should be going back home, back to normal. What I didn't know was that I wouldn't be going back to that- ever.
  I went back to Dave and Holly's house, going through the same routine of small talk and then homework. Since I didn't have anything to do outside of school, I decided to bring home my binders and organize them, all of them, to the very last detail.
  When I finished that I didn't know what to do. But then my mom walked in the door. She had gotten home from work. This was when I found out that not only had we been locked out of the house but also the bank accounts and my mother's cell phone was turned off. We literally had nothing. My mom had brought home a few things she had got for us from her work, which was a conveniently located thrift store. We had clean underwear, that had been donated, and for all we knew, worn before. I almost wanted to wear the pair I had on again. However, I could feel the dirt on my body. I knew it wasn't so much the physical dirt as it was the horrible feeling I had that I couldn't get rid of.
  Later this night after dinner, Jessie was actually home when I was awake. She told me I could raid her closet for anything I wanted. Cute clothes at my dispense for as long as I was here. This cheered me up right away. Of course it had to end when my mom said that she would be heading over to our house to try and get in. . .. With my brother by her side. She had called my oldest brother and he was here solely to protect his mom, I could see it in his eyes and in his stance.
  "Is there anything you need?"
  "Yeah. My English homework is sitting on my bed. And if you can, some clothes. . . . ."
  "Okay, anything else?"   
  "Yeah, Mom. There should be a twenty in my sock drawer. You can take it and use it. It's on the right side in my box from Kimberly." The look on her face hurt me more than saying the words I told myself I would never say. There was no way around it. I had often snuck money into her purse or wallet, always paying her back for the little extras she gave so we wouldn't feel like we didn't have money. This time she had to know that I was giving it to her.
  I couldn't stand to see her face anymore. I turned away. Remembering her telling me how proud she was when she finally got to buy the groceries when my grandparents, her parents, were in town. She had hated having to have support from them long after she had moved out. It hurt her because she felt as though she had failed for providing for her family. Little did she know. She worked harder as a mom than any other I knew. All my friends told me about their moms, or I had met them and none of them seemed as though they had been through a time when their entire life surrounded around their children. I mean, they work to take care of their kids and of themselves. My mom worked solely for us kids, and if it was available, she took care of herself. Always the last to be served, always the last to shower, always the last for everything. She was very adamant about us coming first. She spent her time making sure we didn't feel like we had no money. It was spread so thin, her planning was so meticulous, that if one dollar was gone, it would throw everything else off. She planned months in advanced for the holidays. Taught us that having only three little gifts was so much more than it may seem. I never once remember feeling, in any way, that we couldn't have the world if we wanted to. I think it was the times when we all ate a bowl of cereal in the living room for dinner. We all sat on the couch or at the coffee table watching John Wayne films or Jackie Chan films. My mom went to Little Caesar's to buy us pizza, soda, and bread-sticks on Fridays because you could get the whole package for less than 10 bucks. She went all out.
         I couldn't believe my dad was erasing this all. The look on my mom's face told me that she truly believed she had failed. It made me angry because she hadn't. She had not failed in the least bit.
         I wondered why my mom had stayed with him after that. I figured that forgiving him was the best thing to do. So I waited. I waited for him to come to my brother and I and apologize. But he never did, so I never forgave him. I couldn't see how. To forgive somebody, don't they have to be sorry? I never once expected a apology from my father after that. I suppose it was a good thing, because it was always my mother who came to apologize to me. I hated that. It was rarely her who started the fight. Usually it was my father who pulled off some stubborn action. Then my mom would go to talk to him to solve the problem and it would turn into this whole screaming match. My mother never directly apologized for my father, but I knew we were expected tom take it that way. This is why I decided never to say anything. I didn't want to make it worse when it had just ended. I didn't want my dad to tell me to, "Shut the fuck up!" either. So I never said anything. I acted like everything was fine, even if I didn't feel like it was.
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A few months after he locked us out of the house, he decided he wanted to take me on a road trip with him to see his parents. I had been so excited, so ready for it. A little nervous, but childishly prepared to handle everything. I had a list of things I could talk to him about so there would be no awkward silences. I had made sure a thousand times we had music. I couldn't go without it and what better to use as a conversation starter? It was a day before we were to leave and my mom came to me.
         "Carmen? Here is some change."
         "For what?" I didn't understand.
         "If anything happens, or if he says or does something, I need you to call me. Here's a list of numbers you can call. There's my cell, the house of course and Don and Theresa's house and cell phones."
         "Okay." My own mother didn't trust him? The thought hadn't even crossed my mind. Now the Hollywood horrors were racing on the back side of my eyelids again. I was stranded at night, in the rain. I was in a small town and had to walk a mile to the nearest gas station with the eerie old man to ask to use a phone. I would be soaking wet, as well as all the things in my bag, which I would later find were completely useless. Now I was on the side of the road and it was hot. There was nothing for mile on every side. Not even a farm house or shed. A car pulls up and asks me if I need a ride. All I could think was that my father would dump me somewhere and run off.
         Looking back now, I am so thankful that rape didn't cross my mind. I wouldn't have gone on the trip.
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