Abuse Memoir

[Sam998]

This is nonfiction. I also don't think I did that well but just tell me what you think..

 

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On January 2nd I was at my Dads house. I was playing Xbox late at night at 3 or 4 AM. I remember seeing my step mom Cheryl walk out of the door, looking shocked, with a red face. This was unusual because she generally stayed in bed, maybe coming out once around midnight or so to get a snack or check on me, maybe remind me to take my meds. She didn't talk much, and I was confused so I didn't say much either. I just kept playing my games, occasionally looking back at her to make sure she wasn't mad at me or anything like that. A little later on, I don't remember how much longer but it was still that night and it was after four (because I remember my Dad say "It's going to be light out in an hour"). My Dad came out of their room, crossed the little hallway inbetween rooms, and came into the room we where in. I don't remember many exact words, I don't remember how the conversation started, but I do remember that there where lots of awkward pauses, and things where very tense. I guess it might be odd, but I did little things like take extra time at menu screens, do easy things I knew I could beat rather than taking on hard stuff, all so that I could make sure I didn't miss anything. I wanted to make sure I got the situation, hopefully remember it so I could look back. If things got ugly it would be an unpleasent memory yes, but it was one I wanted to keep. I know that the bad times are the ones that have shaped me the most, and the good times are simply things to strive for in the waiting game of life. I remember that I was about to leave the room though, go into the other one because they where starting to raise their voices, and that I didn't think I could endure. However when I got to the doorway Cheryl told me to stop saying something along the lines of "Sam stay! If you leave he will hurt me." I had never seen my Dad physically hurt my step mom or my regular mom, but I knew that years and years ago he did hurt my real mom from what my siblings had told me. So I stayed at the doorway, just standing and not leaving. My Dad didn't hurt her in front of me, but he tried to get her back into the bedroom. Eventually, she agreed. So I went back to the Xbox, and looked through the glass door. I remember distinctly that she had a red blanket around her, and then she fell over. I don't think it was because of him though, because I didn't see him touch her. I think it was because of fear, I think it made her legs weak and her knees tremble. Maybe it was a simple trip though, who knows.

 

A little while later my Dad came out to assure me everything was okay, and I could keep playing my video games. I did, albeit a bit nervously. The next day I didn't see my step mom for the vast majority of the time. In fact everything seemed really peaceful, and I mostly kept last night in the far back of my mind. Then later I saw two police officers come to the door. I froze, I didn't even think of answering them. I slowly eased my way back on to the couch, I remember this distinctly. This must have caught my Dad's eye because I don't normally do this. He looked out the windows and saw the police, he went to the door and greeted them. The officer asked what they had been doing all day or something along those lines, my Dad said watching football. While this wouldn't explain all day, I think that it is possible they did spend sometime doing that. The officers asked if they could come in, my Dad said yes. I wish he didn't say that. They said they had heard a call from a "disturbed neighbor". I don't know if that's actually even true, because last night, I forget when or how it fits into things, but I did try to call 911, I tried a few times, but that phone was never very reliable and it didn't seem to work. So I stopped trying, I guess I will never know if it was my failed calls or an actual neighbors call. Nonetheless, they did come in. They talked to Cheryl in one room, and told my Dad to stay in the kitchen area. I was scared, I loved my Dad, and I still do. I don't want him going to jail, I don't want the person who has always had the most in common with me, who always loved me so much, to be separated from me. Even if he was guilty, I didn't see how it would cause anything but more pain. I remember an officer coming back in, and my Dad, reasonably, said "Why are you still here?" they neglected to do anything but dodge this question. They told my Dad to sit on a chair, while they talked to him. I forget most of the things they said, but I do remember them saying "Then what are the bruises on her arms?" In responce to something he said. This next moment is the one that echoes pain in my head, and fills me with hate for so many people. One officer took one of my Dads arms, the other one took the other. They slammed him against the table. Then they handcuffed him. I went to the computer, I thought at this moment, maybe there was something I could do to show the slightest defiance, something to show that they aren't the nights in shining armor coming along to help the poor desperate wife and son being terrorized by the big bad father. I looked up police brutality on Wikipedia, maybe if they saw me looking at that they would realize I didn't approve and their veil of egotism would fade. Then I thought, maybe if I play a song like "f*ck tha Police" or "Cop Killer" it would anger them, giving me a satisfying, if not minorly sadistic pleasure. I didn't do that, I didn't have the courage to try and go against these men in blue. I also remember that one of them needed a pen for something, and asked me to help find it. I didn't resist, I didn't take the time to think of how to reply, I just quietly said okay. I looked so many places, under cases, next to cabinets. I did eventually find the pen, but I felt ashamed. I had submitted to these people, and helped them in some sort of small way. Even if it didn't help them so much, I felt like part of the problem, and to this day I wish I had done something else. Eventually they where taking him to their car, but before they could, I did the one thing I remember fondly. I said "I love you Dad" with tears in my eyes, he walked over to me, and his hands where cuffed but I could still hug him, and I did tightly. I hope this helped him get through some of what would follow. This little memory may have helped him, and maybe one day he'll tell me it did.

 

Shortly after this, a medical examiner of some sort came into talk to Cheryl. To ask her what happened, and Cheryl told me to go to a backroom so I wouldn't here anything. I looked out a window in that room, the car that stole my Dad had left, but many other vehicles remained. It seemed like a convoy of people, all bound by their obligation to hurt my father and drown my step mother in possibly feigned sympathy. I remember thinking how important this night was, and how I would remember it. These weren't the only thoughts, but the others have been lost. I had so many things in my head, worries, anger and hopes, that they all have crossed out each other. I couldn't hang on to them all.

 

Cheryl called for me to get back to where she was. I did. I walked from that dark room, lit only with the convoys lights, to the room with a roundtable of people who where not so different. I was told to get my stuff, it was all in that room. Cheryl said things like "I'm sorry" and other things that she didn't need to. All I could do was mumble, I said things like "I don't blame you". I couldn't say all that I thought, my mind couldn't find its way to my mouth, or maybe I was scared. Now I had to ride in a cop car. Walking out to that backseat, I felt like I was in the belly of the beast. This man was worthless in my mind, and even now he still is. But now I disgraced myself more and more. I tried to make a joke about how I hope I never get home this way again, to which the officer replied the glass or whatever it was was too thick for him to hear me.

 

I got home, and that night not much more happened, not many people knew. I just sat upstairs in solitude. I wish I could have gotten some sympathy, something to ease my mood, but I wasn't going to ask for it. By the next day everyone knew. I refused to talk about it, and even played it off as nothing, but later that night my sister called. I love my sister. I can't remember ever using a cliche like "you understand me" but my sister really understands me, even when I think there's not much to understand. I talked to her on the phone, and she didn't press and didn't ask too much. She was nice, and so sympathetic. She only wanted to help me, and she did with her great benevolence.

 

The next months, from January to present, where and are like lifes version of an evil sequel. It certainly manages to live up to the originals presentation of misery. My Dad was in jail, and I was playing the waiting game of life. Even now, I can't see my Dad until the chaos of the courts fixes itself. Soon hopefully, but until then, I'll wait...