Member-only story
I Remember
But I don’t know who my father is.
I was startled awake by a man screaming in our living room. Of course, I was frightened, but I was always afraid, then and now. I could see the light in the hall through my bedroom door, so I grabbed my blanket and went to investigate. Being afraid of monsters under the bed is a common childhood fear. Your parents will insist they don’t exist, but my monster lived in the house with us.
I held my blanket tight as I padded down the hallway, but there wasn’t much comfort in it. When I entered the living room, he was stomping up and down on our thick, wooden coffee table. I can’t say I was surprised; he was crazy, but seeing him like that made me more afraid. With every jump, he came crashing down with as much force as he could render, trying to pulverize that table.
Just like the rest of us during those years, that coffee table took everything he could dish out. My mom was on the couch, scrunching her legs up against her chest and crying. She was more afraid than I was. When they saw me, he calmed down. I was told, “Go to your bedroom.”
Eventually, the sound of breaking glass woke me again, and my mom had to be rushed to the emergency room. The next-door neighbor would come by if we needed her. My little brother slept through the whole thing, I always wondered how he did that.
