One bounce, two bounce, three bounce. My father's shout filtered through the wall into a mumble of angry words. Once bounce, two bounce-my mother screamed, followed by a sound of sudden shattering. One…two…three…four…five, the front door slammed. He always left by my tenth bounce on the bed.
I opened my bedroom door a little and caught my mother's soft sobbings. I sat with my knees cupping my chin in the middle of the bed. I waited until the sound subsided before leaving the room.
When I stepped into the living room, I realized that he had broken the vase again. I reached down, picked up a bloody piece and wondered where I put the superglue the last time I used it. Then I remembered that I had used them all up.
I went to the kitchen. The sight of my mother holding a bloody white towel over the back of her head made me stand transfixed at the doorway.
"Mommy, was daddy angry again?" I asked.
"Yes, Melissa. So we have to clean up the house and make a nice dinner for him, okay," she said as she turned to give me a smile that further stretched the taut skin of her thin face and squeezed a new trail of tears from her eyes which she quickly wiped on the sleeves of her free hand.
"Let's go to the doctor first."
"I'm alright, darling. I will be fine soon."
"Miss Judy told me that if I ever hurt myself, I must always tend to my cuts first before doing anything else. Else, she said, it might get bad and hurt more."
Mommy giggled in a way that made my breath lump in my chest. "I'll be alright. I just need to lie down for a little," and she did.
As she dozed on the sofa, I tidied the living room as best as I could, after making sure to first collect the pieces of grandmother's heirloom vase in a small basket. Mommy once told me that it was special, so every time daddy broke it, I would put it back together again for her. I wanted to keep it safe in my room but my mother wouldn't let me. Today was the fourth time he broke it, though it was the first time he broke it over her head.
I sat on the floor by the sofa, waiting for mommy to wake. The blue cushion under her head had turned almost black. The shadows grew long but she didn't get up to make dinner. Soon the curtain-filtered light in the house turned grey and shadows began to emerge from one corner of the room and under the coffee table.
The gravels outside the house crunched under the footfalls of a pair of heavy boots. The front door handle turned and my father stepped into the house. He let out a growl the moment his eyes fell on the sofa. His hands clenched and unclenched by his side as though he was working up a punch to rouse my mother from her sleep. I let out a sob and a whine as I crawled my way out of the living room, away from him, away from the front door.
Daddy strode to her side and grasped her throat but just as suddenly he let go. He turned to look at me. I ran to the back, out the kitchen door and to the front yard, screaming. I ran and ran until I heard a car screeched to a stop behind me and a woman's voice calling out, "Melissa!"
I turned. It was Miss Judy. I ran back to embrace her, sobbing and shouting incoherently as I hugged her. She pulled up my sleeves and gently ran her fingers over the back of my head all the while asking, “Where are you hurt, sweetie? Where are you hurt, Melissa?”
Finally I pointed to my chest and said, "In here."
I sobbed uncontrollably as she picked me up. A throng of people had gathered around us. Soon a flashing police car pulled up and a man and lady officer came out to talk with Miss Judy. I recognized them. My neighbor, Mrs Maniam, had called them last week when my mother and father quarreled in the yard. When they arrived my father was gone and my mother told them everything was fine. She did not show them her dislocated shoulder. That night, after cleaning the house and cooking daddy's favorite dinner, she went to the other side of town to a clinic we had never been to before.
The lady officer took one look at me and after a brief instruction to Miss Judy, they drove off then turned into the lane leading to my house. I stayed with Miss Judy that night but the next morning some serious looking people took me away to a new place where there were a lot of frighten, quiet children. I am still here waiting for my daddy to forgive me for telling on him. I am still waiting for him to take me home.
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