Thump! Thump! Thump!
I didn’t know what was going on. In fact, I really didn’t want to know but that was beside the point. I folded my legs, tugging my knees close to my chest and wrapped my arms around myself. Somehow, one traitorous hand snuck away and took the remote, bringing the volume down to mute. The thumping continued, it felt as if the walls were trembling, threatening to tumble down and shatter at any moment. The very structure didn’t betray me, but the mysterious sound prevailed nonetheless. I kept my eyes fixed on the fuzzy screen, trying to convince myself to turn up the volume when suddenly a loud wail cut through a temporary silence. The remote fell from my hands; I barely heard it clatter on the concrete floor below.
In that moment, I saw death.
I could clearly picture my mother with a knife, no longer caring that a remainder of her life would be spent fighting withdrawal within unforgiving gray walls. I could feel the stagnant air in the guest room where my grandmother would place my siblings and I. Somehow I could smell the ashes that would be dumped into the river. It all played out like a cheesy flashback in a terrible crime show and I could do nothing to prevent the swell of imaginings that gripped me. I stood up quickly, ignoring the moan of the basement stairs as I raced up, almost slamming into Norah. My sister’s face was ghostly and the bags beneath her eyes were already purpling.
“What’s going on?”
“She’s got a knife and a flashlight.” Norah said very calmly, when all things were considered.
“Why a flashlight?” I asked dumbly.
“The hall light’s out.”
“Oh.”
I brushed past her and made my way to the back hall, where my mother was hunched, her entire focus bent on an unyielding door. The knife was sticking out of the door and the flashlight illuminated it in the strangest way. With another screech, Mama pulled the knife out and banged on the door some more. This madness had to end, the scotch flooding the floor had to be mopped up before morning, and Mama had to sleep off this drunken rage that had so harshly seized her by the hair.
“Mama.” I hung back, my voice likely not carrying, “Mama.” I spoke louder and far less gently the second time around, “Mama, put down the knife.”
Mama ignored me, striking another splintering blow at the frame.
“Mama! Mama, please. Mama, put down the knife. Please Mama, he ain’t gonna come out. Put down the knife and let’s go to sleep. Norah needs sleep. She’s got a game tomorrow. Just go to sleep, Mama.” I drew close just as my mother dropped both objects, the clatter nothing compared to the chaos before. As Mama retreated, I fell to my knees and picked up the flashlight as it rolled towards me and then the knife, taking them both back into the relative safety of my bedroom. Norah followed me, visibly trembling.
“Go to sleep, Norah, I’ll clean it up.”
“Should we put that back there?” She gestured towards the offending knife laying atop my trunk.
“Do you want to go to the kitchen right now?”
“…No.”
I slipped into my bed and slipped on my headphones, trying to drown out the nonsense.
The next morning, I rose from the bed took it upon myself to wake up the house for school and work. Dad hadn’t woken up, which meant that the task fell to me. Slowly, I shuffled out into the hall and tried the doorknob. Then I started banging on it, “Dad! Time to get up! Dad! Dad?”
I gave up, deciding to wake my sister. She groaned and threw a pillow at me before reality hit her and she sat straight up.
“Where’s the knife?” She asked suddenly.
“It’s still in my room….” I trailed off, getting up to check. “No…no it isn’t.”
The flashlight was still there but the knife was in fact gone. I ran down the hall, turning to look into the living room. Mama lay on the sofa, curled towards it. There were dark splotches all over the sofa though. Leaning closer to examine them, I reached over her still form to turn on the light. Without even fully processing it, I dashed back down the hall as my sister was about to come through.
“Stay here.”
“Why?”
“Just stay.”
I had to get to the phone, but the phone was locked in Dad’s room. In the country, my cell phone was practically useless, unless I could manage to text someone else to call the police or an ambulance—I didn’t know, I just knew it was time for punching three numbers into a phone and listening to a world weary voice on the other end. How could I explain it all in a text? I banged on the door some more, “Daddy please let me in!”
Finally, the door heaved open.
I found the knife.
ns 15.158.61.48da2
