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Coitus Interruptus

Bill Tope

    The eight year old approached her mother’s door and pushed it open a crack, allowing a spear of light to penetrate the darkness. It feel upon the dresser and for a moment she could see her reflection in the mirror. The door creaked on its hinges. She heard the scuffling of bed clothes and a sudden intake of breath, then the staccato voice of her mother,
    “Alanna, shut that door!” Instead of doing that, the girl said, “I can’t sleep.” it was almost a whimper.
    “Why?” demanded her mother. “What’s wrong with you?” Impatience in the grownup voice.
    “I’m scared,” said the little girl. She heard a disgruntled muttering from another, deeper, male voice in the room. The voice said, “What the shit?” The woman could be heard arising from the bed, the box springs screaming as she shifted her weight.
    “It’s okay,” the woman told him coaxingly. “I’ll put her back to bed.” More unhappy words and then the woman’s bare feet could be heard treading across the floor. Arriving at the door, she swept it wide, then closely it completely, as if making a statement. She asked Alanna, “What the hell is going on?” Alanna looked at her feet, said nothing. Then she murmured, “I’m scared.”
    “Of what?” demanded her mother. Alanna seemed to turn this over in her mind for a moment, then replied,
    “I’ve scared my dad won’t ever come home again.” There, she’d said it.
    The woman huffed angrily. “We were divorced nearly two years ago, Alanna. And he’s not your real father; he’s your only step father.”
    “I want my real father,” she whimpered. The woman stamped her foot.
    “I haven’t got time for this. Get to bed, right now, and don’t let me hear another word out of you, do you understand?” Alanna turned and walked to her own bedroom, which was filled to capacity with a bunkbed, stuffed toys, collectable dolls, what have you. “And when you wake up in the morning, I want you to clean your damn room!” exclaimed her mother. Alanna halted in her tracks, remembering.
    “My bed is wet,” she said plaintively. The woman bristled anew.
    “Who make it that way?” she demanded. “You did. So you can just sleep in it.” Alanna began sobbing.
    “Can’t I sleep you you?” she whined.
    “No! Do you think I want pee in my bed too? From now on, no drinks two hours before your bedtime, do you hear me?” she reached out and roughly turned Alanna to face her. “Control your bladder, goddamnit! Now, get to bed!”
    “You’re a mean mom,” muttered Alanna. “Yeah?” said the woman flippantly. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!” The woman extinguished the hall light, slipped inside her own bedroom and asked coyly,
    “Now, where were we?” Alanna stood and stared silently at the closed door.

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