Writing Diaries #8

A Peek into a Child's Mind

Writing about my traumatic childhood over many decades allowed me to come to terms with it. The following story is inspired by a piece I wrote in the early 1970s. The incident, the first time I witnessed my father's violence against my mother, left an indelible mark on me. I was about five years old.

The Voices

Shouting voices wake me up. But when I open my eyes, something black, blacker than the room I'm in, hangs over my bed, over my head.

"Am I dreaming?" I ask myself.

But a voice inside my head pipes up: "If you're dreaming, how come you can still hear those two yelling at each other?" It's a girl's voice and sounds a lot like my friend, Louise. I'm never sure whether we're playing together or she's just inside my

head, making fun of me.

Never mind Louise. I am very sleepy and I shut my eyes.

But the voices get louder, more scary: my Pappa's voice is big and angry, Mamma's small and thin. I squeeze my eyes to close them tighter and I stick my fingers in my ears. I hope I'm having a dream because Mamma says dreams can't hurt you no matter how scary they are.

When I hear Mamma crying, I sit up. I listen and I wait, trying to decide what to do.

"I told you it wasn't a dream," says smarty-pants Louise. "You'd better go see why your Mamma's crying and make him stop yelling at her."

But my room is dark -- Mamma covered my window with heavy curtains so that I'd sleep better, she said -- but I'm afraid of the dark. And now I'm afraid to leave my bed although I know I have to go to my Mamma.

"You're such a ninny!" Louise says. "If I could go for you, I would but I can't. So I'll go with you. Come on!" Louise is older than me and she isn't scared of anything.

I throw off the covers and slide out of the narrow bed. My feet are warm; the old wood floor is cold. I'm afraid a hand will reach out from under the bed and grab my ankle and pull me under the bed, and I'll disappear forever.

I get down on hands and knees and I crawl towards the door. Louise keeps telling me to hurry up but I want to avoid the furry creatures that probably live in my room. I hear them sometimes when I lie in bed before I fall asleep. I'm not scared of them exactly but I'm glad they've never tried to climb up beside me. They like to be on the floor, especially in corners.

Finally, finally, I reach the door and I stand up. My hand finds the door knob. I turn it, open the door and put one foot out in the hallway. I stand there, listening for voices. My parents' door at the end of the hall is open and yellow light falls out from their room into the hall and I can see. But I keep waiting because Pappa doesn't like it when I bother him in his room.

Then Mamma screams and I run towards the sound. It's not far but it feels like I'll never get there. I do get there.

Mamma is sitting on the edge of the bed holding her arm. Pappa stands over her, his arm is raised and in his hand, he has a big stick.

I scream.