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Nine-Year-Old Eyes

Angelica Carter

    She took my hand and led me towards their bathroom. Her hand was warm. Kind of like the stove when she cooks dinner. She kept saying, ‘this is what’s best for you, this is what mothers do for their children.’ I do not understand that word, or rather the phrase; what’s best for you. There are so many versions and definitions of that word, best. She also says broccoli is best for you, but it tastes so nasty, now how can that be “best” for me? I want to ask her this question again. Is this really what’s best for me, mommy? But, hearing my father beat down the door of their bedroom stops me. She tells me to get in the bathtub, I’d do it, if that is what’s best for me. But what I don’t understand is why don’t I get a say in what’s best for me? Why is it not my decision?
    She picks me up and sets me in our pink bathtub, such an odd color, pink. She reaches into the cabinet and pulls what I think is a gun, I only see ones on the telly, I learned that word from my friend, Blanket, from England. He always carries a blanket. His parents tried to take it from him. He screamed so loud, I hate loud noises. I cover my ears when Daddy yells at Momma. Kind of like how he is right now. She’s kissing my forehead and telling me she loves me. What does love mean? She holds me tight before she goes, her face wet from tears. Momma says she loves Daddy, but I didn’t know love hurts you, and leaves black and blue spots on your face and arms. I thought love was fun, and nice.
    I hear more banging now. Daddy is really mad at momma, madder then the time she left for three whole days. I cover my ears; I don’t like loud noises. I can still hear them shouting. I try not to listen but, I can’t help but hear them. I turn the water on, cold just the way I like it. Momma says that’s weird, but cold water feels so good. It’s something refreshing about it, like it’s taking away all the bad stuff. All the, tension. I want to live in Alaska, it’s always cold there. You know, they don’t get to see the sun for 40 days. That’s a long time. I don’t really care for the sun, I mean I know it’s important but, if it was dark all the time that would be the greatest of great things. I have this theory that everything comes alive at night. Everything and one becomes what they truly are. I believe I’m truly a fish. A pretty fish like coy fish.
    The water is seeping out and onto the floor. It’s quiet now, creepy quiet. Maybe it’s safe, now. I get out the tub. My clothes soaking wet but, I don’t reach for a towel. I hear my mother scream, and something fall. Then this extremely loud sound explodes in my ears, I think my ears have bells in them, they won’t stop ringing. It takes forever to get to the door but, even when I do reach it, I know it is locked I saw her lock it but I can’t seem to will my body to stop trying. My throat is sore, I hear more screaming, but this time it’s coming from my own mouth. My hands are raw and red from trying to open the door. I hear another of that horrible retched sound. Retched another funny word. Like in that song momma sings, Amazing Grace.
    A louder thud lands next to the door. Then silence. It’s in that silence that makes everything seem better. My parents aren’t playing the who’s louder than who game. I don’t have to cover my ears. But this silence isn’t peaceful, it’s torture. “Another stranger word,” I say to myself as I slide down the bathroom door. My cheeks are wet with tears. My bottom starts to feel wet and warm. I was too old to pee on myself. What is this? I reached my hand behind me, it was coming from the other side of the door. It was blood.
    The door smashed in, sending me flying towards that hideous pink bathtub. My head felt fuzzy. My vision became a little blurry and I could see black spots. A black cloud forms over my body and mind. I was lost. Floating on a black cloud in darkness. I was in a sleepless dream. Or a nightmare. Was this death? Such an unusual word. A word that was just, so, final. I couldn’t be dead, I hadn’t had my first bra measuring yet. My momma's friends say the right bra changes your life. If I get one my life could be changed too, into a life of the happy kind of love, a life of quietness.
    Bright. That’s all I saw when I opened my eyes. Bright light and loud voices. I wanted to cover my ears but I couldn’t move. Men in uniform surrounded me. I tried to guess which one would tell me, what I already knew about my parents. This is the life my mother chose for us, the life she thought was better. The life of a criminal. I over heard the end of the conversation of the guy closest to me.
    “Both parents, deceased. You think she knows where it is? You think she’ll talk?” he asked his colleagues.
    “She will. She just a child. It can’t be that hard, can it?” one said.
    No. He’s wrong. I will never talk. Because that’s what’s best for me.

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