Daddy’s going to Jail Again
By: Meghan Gause
Tags: Life Lessons, Children, Depression, Alcohol, Life

Daddy’s going to Jail Again

12 beers down, 12 more to go

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels

I can still hear it,

The humming.

My mother would plug her ears and hum a tune, sometimes she would sing an elegant melody,

F-you Jesus, for not making my dreams come true, F-you Jesus, for everything you do!

Things got pretty crazy at times, but my brother and I had each other.

Photo by Jessica west on pexels

I was about 5 years old; my brother was around seven. He and I were very close during our upbringing. We would often scramble to our hidden alcoves to play make-believe when our patents were fighting. One game I remember, is where we would squat on our sit-and-spin, and close our eyes real tight; and when we opened them we were in another land.

Another fun memory of our explorations was our club called the S.K.U.A, which stood for Secret kids undercover agency; we would apply our mom’s stockings to our face, fully outfitted in black, and we would spy on anyone and anything.

My brother and I

However, bedtime would always rear it’s ugly face.

The frigid wooden floors squealed beneath my unwashed bare feet. I crept out of my room to watch what was happening, my brother would stay in bed for motives I’ll speak of later.

There he was, wearing a white T-shirt coated in house paint from work. The smell of beer-soaked air fell heavy like summer musk, and my mother sat angrily with her legs crossed and fingers fastened into her ears.

Hmmmmm-ummmm…

A couple of days from then, daddy would drag mommy out of that chair, and break her finger in front of my brother and me because as he said,

that’s what whore’s deserved

I stood in the shadows, stunned, and numb, I was used to that shock — I was used to it all by kindergarten. I wanted so badly to help my mother, but all I could do was run-up to my dad, and pound my insignificant fists on his back and cry at him.

Daddy, daddy please let her go

Over, and over, and over…It didn’t phase him, but he let her get up eventually.

I can still see the tension in her eyes, she would glance down at me with anguish painted on her face. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized my mother was no better than my father, she was a vicious woman at times, who undoubtedly neglected us in her own way.

I’d also grow to learn that my father, before my birth, was remarkably prudent beyond his years, gentle and loving, the opposite of what he was in that poisonous marriage. He fell prey to crooked religion and booze. My mother was once a intelligent lady who majored in the arts, and was extremely caring. However, together they were like water and oil.

But I rarely saw those sides of the coin.

My dad stood up as she skimmed past me. He looked pale with drunkenness. ” Go to your fucking room Meg,” he said, as he exhibited his belt. I would most nights, I would slink into bed crying while my brother simulated sleep. I thought he was pretending to be dead sometimes, So still and quiet.

I would claw at my pillow to drown out the sound of screaming. Funny, I still grate my pillow at night, It still calms me.

I digress

I plunged myself to the living room floor and bawled my eyes out. I heard my mother yelling vulgarity at my father, her voice would quell at times from being tugged.

And then it happened, the loud crash, the sound of shattered glass echoed through the house like a scary movie scene.

I sprinted into the kitchen still crying, only with no sound, just an open, voiceless mouth and moist eyes squinted with horror. I held out my arms insinuating the need to be picked up and consoled.

It wasn’t long before the sirens came, again.

My dad plucked me up and I rested my head on his shoulder, crying. He told me it was ok, and I believed him, I loved him. He wasn’t always so malicious.

I still see the red and blue lights glinting at the front window, I still remember him getting handcuffed as I pleaded with the cops to let my daddy go. And I still remember him coming home a week later with an AA pamphlet, again…..