Were you?

I was there

I was there when it happened, again and again over the years. I was there when he ripped the sheets and threw the beer bottles on the wall. When he punched her in the stomach and did a million abominable things to her. Because I am her daughter.

She met him at the local diner where she bused tables. The owners would not let her waitress because they thought she was too dumb to take orders and be pleasant to the customers. It did not pay much to keep both of us so she took on odd jobs with the neighbors cleaning their homes and doing their laundry on her off hours. We were not poor, but we were nearly there. And we were happy.

Mom had me when she was 16. I am another statistic of unwanted pregnancies in this country. I do not mind. I’m happy enough just knowing that Mom chose to have me instead of having me aborted, as her friends and family advised. I’m proud that Mom overcame her fears and her inadequacies to have me. If I could have one thing left in the world to keep me going, it would be this pride in my Mom.

Which puzzles me about her choice of men. I mean, if you did a smart thing like avoid abortion when you were a teenager, it would surely follow that you would have at least a decent taste in men. But her boyfriends look like they belong to a parade of losers. And I mean all of them.

But no one could be worse than Sebastian. She met him at the diner where she worked and they fell in love. No one knew much about his background like where he lived before he came to our town and where he got his money. He seemed to do nothing but drink in the local bar and eat sloppy joes for lunch at the diner.

My mom is not strictly pretty. She has neat features and a face that looks like it belongs to a nickelodeon show. And she has this way of making people smile. Grandma says it’s because mom was born happy, she could get run over by a truck and still be happy. Which I think explains me.

But I digress. We met Sebastian on my 13th summer and he was nice at first, even if back then, he already constantly reeked of alcohol. You could tell that if he wasn’t so screwed up, he could be a decent boyfriend and potential father. But he was screwed up. We learned eventually that he is living off his considerable trust fund, but he was not allowed back home in Spain because he was always getting into trouble.

I don’t know what mom saw in him, he wasn’t even nice to look at. He had a pockmarked face, his left eye was smaller than his right and he was squat, like a cross between a bull dog and a terrier. Was it his trust fund? I didn’t understand because we were getting by really well since Grandma decided to split her pension cheques with us and Grandpa took on a consultancy job at the accountant’s office. We were fine. She didn’t even have to do her extra work anymore. And I was getting some pocket money from baby sitting.

But she got together with Sebastian anyway. We moved into his roomy home at the edge of town after only three months of dating. He had a surly housekeeper who did nothing but cook paella on Sundays and other Castilian goodies. She did an adequate job keeping house and we may never be friends but I will always be grateful to her.

I was having difficulty sleeping on my first night in the new house. I was tossing and turning when I heard my door creak open. It was Sebastian, slurring in Spanish with a knife in his right hand and a cigarette on the left.

He stubbed his cigarette with his toe and put his forefinger to his lip. He said “Don’t scream or I’ll hurt you.” Then he unbuckled his pants.

I froze for a minute but didn’t care if I got hurt. I was not going to let that filthy pig come near me. I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Nana, the housekeeper was first in my room. She aimed an old but still working shotgun at him.

“Put the knife down. You’re drunk. If you don’t want to sleep at the police station tonight, you best pull your pants up and get some coffee in you,” Nana said without blinking.

Sebastian did as he was told, but you could tell he was really pissed. Mom came in later, disoriented because it seemed she too had been drinking.

I was scared. I asked my Mom to sleep with me, but the sight of her drunk terrified me too. I didn’t know it but she’d been joining Sebastian in the bar more frequently during work hours. That’s why she got fired from her job. And why we had to move in with him.

It was Nana who came to my rescue. She packed my mattress, pillows and comforter into a bundle and dragged it to the adjoining room where she slept. She made sure I was comfortable. Then she told me, “Sleep child. You’ll be all right.”

The last sounds I heard were the windows being bolted and the triple locks on the door being engaged. I slept soundly.

In the morning, Nana remained her distant, remote self. She was not given to talking and overt friendliness, but it seemed that it had become her self-imposed duty to be my protector. She would stand guard outside the bathroom every time I took a bath or when I answered the call of nature. Often when I was doing my homework or sitting in the swing set, I’d find her within screaming distance.

Sebastian made no attempt on me again and I had an inkling it was because of Nana. But he and my mom seemed to be on a downward spiral and I was helpless to stop it. It started with slaps in the face while he pretended to joke around. Then their fights deteriorated to abusive rows that involved a lot of hitting and foul language. Once, it got so bad that my mom, drunk and in a fighting mood, slipped on the stairs and dragged Sebastian down with her. She bled between the legs, while he sustained a fractured leg.

We found Mom was two months pregnant and she lost the baby. She was inconsolable.
She avoided the bottle like it was perdition when we brought her home from the hospital. One night, as I was preparing for bed in Nana’s room, she came in and indicated she wanted to talk. I nodded.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I should be a better Mom,” she started, hesitant.

“I just don’t understand the choices you’ve been making, Mom. You used to be sensible. I don’t understand why we’re here and why you’re with Sebastian,” I blurted out.

“I’m a single mom who didn’t even finish high school. Who would want me? I’m lucky someone like him loves me,” she was defensive.

“Someone like him? He does nothing but drink. His family doesn’t want him because he’s trouble. Aren’t you taking the whole love thy neighbor commandment too far?”

“And what do you want? For me to go back to my dead end job. Beg for it? I’d rather endure his drunken tirades that go back to backbreaking work,” she almost raised her voice.

“No. I just want my old Mom back. The one who was happy wherever she was. I forgot the last time I saw you smile,” I was sobbing.

She took me in her arms, and said, “Shhh, shhh. We’ll be okay. Don’t worry. I’ll fix this. Don’t cry, baby.” Then mom left me as Nana came in.

Nana stroked my hair as I wiped my tears. It was the first time she touched me.

My eyes were red and swollen from crying the night before. Sebastian was still in the hospital. I thought this was my chance to convince my Mom to change her mind and accept help from the people who love her. I called my Grandma, her Mom.

“Hi Grandma,” I greeted her as she picked up the phone.

“Your Mom’s doctor called me. I heard. How is she?” Grandma was gentle.

“She’s recovered, but I can’t convince her to leave. It’s like being trapped in hell,” I said.

“I’ll talk to her. I’ll come down with Grandpa tonight. How about you? Would you like to live with us for a while? We’ll get by, you know that,” she queried.

“I don’t want to leave Mom, especially now. She seems confused,” I replied.

“Okay, baby. You take care and stay within Nana’s sight,” she reminded me.

I hung up feeling a bit better and less helpless. But dinner didn’t go as I expected. Grandpa and Grandma came in good spirits, perhaps optimistic that they could convince their stubborn daughter to change course and leave Sebastian.

Grandma said she called some of her relatives and one of her nephews was willing to give Mom a job in his construction company in the next province. He would even help her finish high school, and perhaps go into college so she can help with the administrative chores in his company.

Mom found all of this distasteful and said so. The evening ended on a sour note as Grandma and Grandpa said curt goodbyes. Grandpa said he was going to see a lawyer so they can get custody of me. I wanted to cry.

Sebastian came home one month later and he was in full fighting form. I began to dread the nights because when it got dark and it was time for bed we would hear things get knocked around in the upstairs bedroom that Mom and Sebastian occupied.

In the mornings Nana would straighten it up so that you couldn’t tell violence took place there. When there was no school I would help Nana clean up the house and would be horrified by the sight of my Mom’s bedroom. There would be alcohol stains on the floor and blood spatter on the wall. The furniture would be in the most inappropriate places, sometimes some were half out the windows.

My heart would leap in my chest with terror when I saw my Mom in the mornings. There was one time her entire left arm was covered in bruises and her lip was broken in five places. Sometimes she couldn’t open her eye from the injuries that covered it. It made me so sick I called the police once. I cried in Nana’s arms when I heard my Mom refuse to press charges.

“I’m sorry kid. We can’t take action unless someone complains and your mom isn’t complaining,” the police officer said matter-of-factly.

Mom slapped me when the police left. It would be her last act of strength. The next day Nana brought her back to the hospital because she saw blood on the toilet in their bathroom.

She died of internal bleeding in the hospital and I didn’t know if I should laugh at this absurdly anticlimactic manner in which Mom left me. Because she was in a violent relationship, I expected her to bid me a gory goodbye. But she didn’t and I was sad that she didn’t even see me graduate high school, or read our story in a novel that has yet to be written.

But most of all I am sorry that she didn’t believe she deserved more than she settled for.