Not the Normal Equation

I sit at the dining room table. The nearly tan pages of my workbook look cheap and simple against the white lace tablecloth that my mother had lain upon the table in celebration of Easter.

My eyes and mind journey between the multiplication problems that lay on the page in front of me and the window that sits across from me, open, letting in the sweet view of moon and stars in a calm deep purple sky.

I am waiting for the sounds of my dad’s return home. Multiplication cannot distract me from my waiting.

I look at the clock and notice the time ticking closer to my bedtime. Then I look back at my nearly empty and blank paper that only currently holds the problems I am to complete and no marks of my own.

Multiplication is nothing to me. It is easy, so why can’t I just focus my mind on my work and to the problems? I am distracted by waiting and frustrated. I look at the page in front of me again and still nothing clicks. I feel about ready to scream out of aggravation. Then I hear a distant noise.

As I hear a car door slam, I am suddenly motivated to finish. Knocking out those problems like baseballs out of the diamond field of a ballpark. I need to finish quickly so that I no longer have to sit here at the table with the lacey cloth.

The front door opens. Although I hear footsteps behind me, I stay stuck focused so as to complete my mission and escape this unpleasant feeling, that something bad and different is going to happen, that is growing stronger and stronger.

My dad’s hand gently yet haphazardly runs thru my light brown locks. My bangs, which I am attempting to grow out, fall into my face slightly impeding my vision, yet I keep on at the same pace as before. Then he brushes my bangs away and kisses my forehead. The strong scent of beer surrounds me and intensifies as he says, “Still hitting the books Sweetie? That’s my girl!”

I calculate even faster as he slightly stumbles into the kitchen, I hear my mom’s footsteps coming up the stairs from our basement and playroom. The smell of beer overwhelms be, but I egg myself on stronger trying to finish quickly before it begins, but I am too late.

My mother’s voice is hushed, so to keep me from hearing their discussion, but still very angry. With each of my father’s semi-audible replies, her voice grows louder and stronger. Within seconds I hear them both clearly as day, and the noise boxes my ears as I sit in the next room.

I rush to finish my final few problems, knowing that I cannot leave the table until my homework is finished and struggling to come up with the correct answers under the rushed clock.

With the last stroke of my pencil, I grab up my book and pencil and leave the table with such rush that I leave a distinct pencil line on my mother’s nice white tablecloth. I hesitate slightly imagining my mother’s reaction and punishment for such an act, but I decide nothing she can use to punish me can be as horrible as this noise and unhappiness.

Half-stumbling, I sprint up the stairs, my arms full, and burst through my sister’s door. I drop all that is in my arms and close the door swiftly to try to end the noise then collapse onto my sister’s bed. The bed creates a wave as I fall onto it getting my sister’s full attention. She drops her book, and then reaches towards me at the bottom of the bed, pulling me up to her, at the top.

Wrapping her arms around me, I rest my head on her, and tears begin to free-fall.

“Mom and Dad are fighting again!” I barely get out.

“I know it’s not fun to hear, but it is kinda the norm around here; as is Dad coming back late and drunk. It will be fine.” She tries to console me.

“No it won’t!” I reply adamantly. “Something’s different this time. Something’s wrong.”

She pulls the blanket over the two of us and just tells me to try to get some sleep. I struggle to stay in dreamland until the alarm clock goes off.

When I awake, I run into my own room and get dressed. Everything is quiet as I go down the stairs and I tiptoe towards my parent’s room, peer in to find my father still there in bed waiting for our morning cuddle session, but he is gone.

Completely gone.