"Are you trying to kill me? This meatloaf tastes like you fished it out of the trash, and as if it couldn't be worse, it's cold." I hear my father's rising voice coming from the kitchen. He's obviously yelling at my mother. Again. "What kind of housewife are you, you lazy, incompetent, sad excuse for a woman!" The sound of glass shattering against tile can be heard all way from my bedroom door, which is slightly ajar. Seconds later, I can hear my mother gasp at the same time I hear what sounds like the crack of a whip. It's my father back handing her across the face. I peek through the crack in my door in time to see my mother falling to her knees, hand cupping her left cheek, tears rolling down her face.
I quickly hide behind my door as my father turns around. I can hear him stalking into the living room, an audible whump of him sitting in his chair the only indication that it was safe to look back out my door. As I peek out my door again, I look around and can vaguely see my mother on her knees, dust pan and small broom in hand. Peas, carrots, mashed potatoes, pieces of meatloaf, and glass from the dinner plate were all over the floor.
Father's temper has been getting worse since he lost his job. Ever since the accident, everyone has been a little tense, but losing his job sent father over the edge. Father was manager of Harper Tech computer company. Ever since the new interns came in, one of which had stolen my father's job, things at the office were different he said. Over and over we would hear my father yelling the TV.
"That dang Bobby Ralph, coming in and taking over my job," he would say. "After everything they knew I was going through. 'The company needs to attract a younger audience,'" he would say, mimicking his boss. He would then launch into a big speech about how younger generations need people his age to influence them.
I hear him throw an empty beer can at the TV screen, mumbling something about 'that damn women.' He obviously means my mother. I feel Charlie tapping my shoulder and look back to see him staring at the floor. He looks up at me and I see the hint of tears welling up in his hazel eyes.
"Are they fighting again?" Charlie asks quietly. I rest my hands on his boney shoulders, pulling him into my chest in a gentle embrace. In these moments, saying nothing is usually best, as my heart beat usually calms Charlie's heaving sobs. Eventually, when things have calmed down, we crawl into the tent we built made of sheets, a table and pillows. We sleep here on nights like this, which is pretty much every night now. We lay back on our pillows, and look up at the pictures taped underneath the table, the ceiling of the tent. We put up pictures, memories, hallmark moments, of when we used to be happy, when we used to be a family.
Fights used to be small vocal disagreements, and they used to hide it so we wouldn't even see them fight. Now with the stress of losing his job, father has made fights a scary, daily event. Now there's physical violence, screaming, they don't try to hide the fights anymore, and usually ends with mother crying. Charlie is curled up against me, I watch his chest rise and fall with each breath. Stroking his back combined with the rhythm of my heart puts Charlie to sleep, while I am left laying awake till the screaming stops, and my fathers loud snores can be heard from the den. As my eyelids droop closed with sleep, I watch the digital clock turn to 3am as sleep finally takes over and I can escape into a blissful rest.
For now.
* * *
I felt my throbbing pulse in my neck, my hands are shaky and sweating. I had been called in to the police station by Natalie Prescott, leading officer on the animal mutilation case, to identify a body found in the woods behind my childhood home. Truth be told, I already had a good idea who it was.
"Charlotte Greene?". I heard my name over the sound system.
"Charlotte, Charlie, pancakes are ready! Hurry and eat or we'll be running late for the carnival," fathers voice traveled down the long hallway to our rooms. Charlie is deep into his comic book that he's hooked on, Turboman. I was in my room packing my camera for the trip. While everyone was looking forward to the rides and games, I couldn't wait to take all kinds of photos of the sights.
"Charlotte honey can you grab mommy her pencil? I have such butter fingers today," mother says after attempting to reach the pencil she had dropped on the ground in the studio/living room. Mother used to be such an amazing artist, her sketches were so good you'd think it was coming alive on the page. Since mother got pregnant with our baby sister, she needed a lot of help; I think she said she was 6 months along, you could just see the circular shape of her baby bump. I got her pencil, and helped mother get up and walk to the table for breakfast. The smell of bacon, eggs, fresh chocolate chip pancakes, and syrup wafted towards us as we got closer to the kitchen.
"Everyone take a seat. We have chocolate chip pancakes drizzled in syrup, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and soft bacon for a certain someone," he turned and looked at me. A beaming smile spread across his face, a plate of food in one hand and a spatula in the other.
After breakfast it was finally time to leave for the carnival. We got in our new mini van, the new car smell still lingered on the plush seats. Father cranked the radio, but soon turned it down after mother complained it was too loud, that her pregnancy made her ears sensitive to noise. Suddenly there was a loud, high pitched noise making me cover my ear.
"Are you okay honey? Honey?" my mom asks me. Her voice is fading away the noise gets louder, I start to fall out of my chair, my head is about to hit the floor.
Beep! Beep! Beep!