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Wait Until Tomorrow

Marc McMahon

    I don’t know what to do anymore Mr. Santos, I really am at a loss as to how I am supposed to grow up in that house and be happy. Mr. Santos if you only knew of the things that went on behind that nice front door of my upper middle-class home, you would be in shock.
    You have overheard me in fits of anger explain to your son some of these horrors, but never have I sat you down and explained the full magnitude of my situation to you. The problem I am having sir is that the things I would be telling you are so atrocious, so horrifying, that I simply do not think you would believe me. Especially since I never have any visible bruises and am only 13 years old.
    Did you know my house has a basement? I did not think so you know why? Because my fucking mom does not even know we have a basement. At least that is what the no good, two timing, sleep with your husband’s friends, lying, let my dad take my friends to the basement parasite that she is, says!
    Sir, you know your walking into trouble when your father leads you by the hand down a set of stairs you did not know existed under the work bench in his garage that meanders down a narrow staircase and as you walk down those stairs the light dims with each passing step, while the amount of blood spatter on each step begins to grow.
    The warmth of your childhood home quickly becomes the frigid, cool air of a turn of the century meat locker. The swing set you played on in the back yard now becomes a swing of the adult nature in daddy’s secret basement. A place where childhood games are played like, Doctor, and Mailman, sometimes daddy even plays Masseuse if I have been really good.
    For a long time, I always thought it was just me until one night while my older brother was sleeping in the bed by the window in the room we share. By the back door of the house that leads to dads garage. I heard my brother mumbling one night and thrashing about in his bed when he sat up, eyes still closed but crying as he screamed, “No daddy it’s too dark down there” then I knew. And at that moment, when he opened his eyes and looked into mine, without a word being uttered. He knew I knew, as well!
    Do you know how that makes a girl feel Mr. Santos? As Mr. Santos reaches into his pocket to pull out his handmade silk handkerchief to lend Jupiter as a temporary dam to stop the flood of tears that have now busted through the child’s flood gate he also pulls out his cell phone and begins to start to type.
    It makes me feel like my parents never loved me at all. As a matter of fact, the more I analyze my situation I wonder if they did not have me just to be daddy’s little play toy. Mom said she had a little girl before when she and dad first got married but apparently she ran away and was never found so the police closed her case after the statute of limitations ran out 10 years later. But it makes me wonder, I mean where did all that blood come from on the stairs Sir? At a loss for words and with a noticeable bead of sweat beginning to form on his brow Mr. Santos fumbles with his phone in hand as he is trying to press the send button to email the text message he just typed, as it drops at the young teen’s feet. As the naive’ little girl reaches down to pick it up and return to the man she catches a glimpse of the text. It in all caps said, “She’s telling me of the basement damn it, shut her up today or else!” As Jupiter hands the phone back to him with one hand while the other hand pushes her up out of her chair she starts to head for the door. “Thank you for stopping bye Jupiter and you can rest assured your secret is safe with me.”
    Almost out of the room she begins to swing the door closed behind her when door stops swinging and Mr. Santos appears whispering “by the way sweetie, your dad said to make sure that you hurry home, now run along.”

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