Home of Piece(s)

Home is unique for everyone, ours was no exception.

What kind of night waited for me after school?

Would it be a quiet night, with homework, dinner, and TV before bed? It could be an odd occasion, when friends are over and us kids can stay up late- likely not going to school tomorrow. Perhaps, it'll be a short night, because no one remembered it was trash day- and now Mom is mad?

Or my favorite. The regular, casual nights that turned into flashing blue and red. Always during dinner, and ALWAYS out of nowhere.

It could start out simple, like Dad forgot to switch over the laundry. Then, it's about how Dad works too much, Mom isn't happy, we're in debt. Doors started breaking from being slammed so hard, I started to wonder if it was ever really about the laundry at all.

Do you know how many calls it takes for a specific officer to be assigned to your home? It took 5, for us.

I was so little at the time. Too small to break up a fight, too big to cry loud enough that it would catch their attention.

All I could do was hide in the bathroom, and hope it would all be different when I came out.

But then, I got older. Bigger. Louder. Stronger.

I thought that maybe, I could make it stop.

That I could get in the middle, and it would be enough to make it stop.

It wasn't, though.

They still hit each other. They still spewed hateful words, and broke vases and slammed doors. Arrest records, concerned phone calls from family, CPS meetings in 3rd grade. Going to the neighbor's house, "I don't know what happened, officer", broken door frames.

I'm much older now, my parents separated- happier, at that.

But I find that I still hide in the bathroom when voices get louder. I still pretend I'm asleep when someone walks past my door. I know everyone's mood by the pressure of their footsteps.

I still don't do well with slamming doors.

I ache for the little girl that craves a home of peace;

And not this house of pieces.