As a child my mom was never able to pick “good men” and my stepfather was the epitome of that. My mom had a way about her though that would bring out the devil from a saint. She was a sloppy drunk had no skills as a wife or mother that I was ever able to find. Her biggest failure was getting with men who were also alcoholics and drug users. This led to disastrous situations. The man she married though was one of the worst. I remember a time when he led a police chase to our home, came busting in with the cops pulling up as soon as he got the door shut behind him. He ran to the bathroom to dump the drugs he had on him down the toilet. The cops were soon in the living room with my mom and me as they brought him threw after getting him out of the bathroom where they found that he also had a gun. They stopped in the living room and in front of us asked him where the gun came from. I’ll never forget when he told them it must be mine. Mind you I don’t think I was in kindergarten yet but maybe so I was either five or six years old. Yes, this is the man my mom wanted. He also had his parents bail him out that night but left my mother because they couldn’t be bothered with her. I was picked up from the station by my grandparents. It wasn’t the last time. But you probably can see where this is going.
It wasn’t too long after that when he moved in. It was horrible after about two or three weeks. He decided I was no longer allowed to spend time at my friend’s house or sleepover anywhere at all. Luckily though they dumped me on my grandmother a lot. But he also came up with the nifty idea I wasn’t allowed to see my real father again and that his name was never to be spoken again. It seems to me so crazy, writing this but it’s what he came up with and my mother had no back bone so that’s what happened. The rules didn’t stop there, and the insults to my mom never stopped. Now I will be really honest here and tell you I can’t think of a nice thing to say about my mother.
The difference I think that I have come up with though is that I didn’t choose her as my mother, the thing that always confused me about him was he chose her. He also stated with her almost till the end but that’s getting into a whole different story. Anyway the insults didn’t take long to turn into punches and then it became the norm in our household. I could tell you many different stories but the one that’s clearest in my mind was a time when the two of them had really been going at it. For better visuals my stepfather was six-two inches and kinda broad. Not a skinny guy but not far so I guess average, my mom was five foot five and maybe a hundred pounds on her worst day. So my dad is punching her and she would go back and start him up again. Each time my dad is telling her to stay away and to go to the room. Of course she won’t listen she is black and blue at this point and looking like the losing boxer at the end of the match. I think at this point he is just tired of punching her so he picks her up by what looks like the loop in her jeans and probably her hair and tosses her from halfway down our hallway to the room at the end of the hallway. Even though she didn’t weigh much her body made a sickening sound when it hit the floor of thier room. And she didn’t make any more noise. It was silence, and after the almost deafening sound of them fighting it was a silence that made you sick to your stomach. I don’t know if it was the silence that got to my dad or maybe his gut started to turn from what he did a but he looked white. When I say white I mean like I have never seen in a person since then and I have seen people faint. This white was from terror though and his eyes where huge. He turned to me and I got real scared like when they say a ghost has passed through them and they got cold that was the closest I ever got to that feeling.
When he turned to me he said “I killed her” and I knew he truly believed he had. I had things going through my mind and I’m embarrassed to admit for a split second I thought I might get out of that hell and be sent to my grandmother. But he wasn’t finished, he told me “I’m afraid to check, you go in there and make sure she is alive”. Mind you at this time I believe myself to about ten years old. It made me feel real powerful in that moment though, because here he was the tough man and I had to go check on my mom because he couldn’t. Of course I was too young to realize he was just afraid of prison and it had nothing to do with my mother’s well being. So I told him I would go check on her. I don’t think I had any fear if her being dead, I should have though only because I was a witness and who knows what he would have done. So start down the hall and I can see her feet as I walk toward the room. The door is half open so I kinda just walk in without touching it. For some reason I didn’t want to touch anything. My mom was sprawled on the floor not moving at all at first I saw no signs of her breathing, no noticable movements of her back rising with a breath. So I had to get closer to her face. Once I bent over a little real close to her though I could get her breathing. I know I’m the worst person in the world but I was almost disappointed. I haven’t told you all of the stories so you don’t know yet the things my mother put me through just yet. But if I’m going to be honest I was disappointed. Then I walked back out to my dad and told him. For a minute he didn’t believe I think he had convinced himself of the worst during the time it took me to check. Of course for me it felt likes hours to go and check her but in his state it was probably forever. But even that wasn’t enough to split them up. In fact thier marriage was longer then most anyone I know. For me though it just cemented in my head that I would never be like my mom.