Hawk on a Line

The warm sun kissed my cheek, gently waking me most summer mornings. The birds in the tree next to my bedroom window sang their good morning tunes, dancing in and out of their melodies as I watched the sunbeams gliding across my room. The dust would waltz through the sun, and I’d pretend they were angels watching over me and my sisters. The warm wrap of sunshine around my tiny body and the glorious morning hymns of the birds were shattered almost as quickly as they warmed my soul.

Shouting and objects hitting the living room wall is all we could hear now. Our morning started like this quite often. My sisters and i lay still. silent. eyes wide, waiting for a moment to escape the confines of our daily hell. we quietly shuffled our feet down the turning staircase. the stairs layed with red carpet silenced our footsteps and made it easier for us to reamin unseen and unheard. my oldests sisters hand reached the front door and the familiar metallic ting from the loose handle jiggled in her hand. I looked back in time to see a ceramic mug thrown across the room and hit my mom in her right eye. she dropped to her knees cupping her eye and i turned quickly to head out the door. I was terrfied for her. but i knew his hands well too and i knew i would meet a similar fate if i intervened. we all knew that. My oldest sister with my youngest sister slung over hip, looked back in dread as we turned toward what we knew as safety.

The hillside next to us was fairylike. The way it could wipe away a day of pain and chaos was simply magic. We knew we could escape there and the enchanted hillside would wipe away our worries. We spent sunup to sundown outside in those hills, miles and miles of tread on our feet, mud between our toes, and buckets upon buckets of snails, rocks, frogs, and cattail wishes galore.

When we returned home several hours later, the police officer from just a few houses down was in our living room. the solid oak coffee table turned on its side, papers everywehere and, the white coffee mug, in one piece laying on the ground where it fell after colliding with my moms face. He’d been here before, and i never understood why he came. He never helped my mom or us. he’d write a few things down, say “ok, uh huh”, like he was listening, then. nothing. we wouldn’t see him again until their next fight. there was always evidence of him hitting her but the police officers never helped her. It taught me from a young age not to trust people with authority. only “good” people get help. not people like us. My trust in adults was deminished by the time i hit the 4th grade. No adult had ever stood up for me and no adult has ever tried to help my mom. The only people who had let me down in my short time on earth were those who were in a position to help but chose not to.

We went to bed that night, empty stomachs growling at each other, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room. We all four lay in the same bed, offering each other quiet comfort and hoping the next day may bring peace and a warm meal. our dreams entwined in a collective wish for better days ahead, where laughter would replace our hunger, happiness would fill our hearts and, the songs of the birds would carry throughout our day.

This is for my mom. She endured hell from this man and came out a survivor. I am proud of what she has overcome and fights for everyday. October is domestic violence awareness month. don’t silence yourself. and help someone who needs it.