Oliver Rose - Chapter Four

I kept covering my ears harder and harder until I thought my entire head was going to cave in.  No matter how hard I covered them I could still hear my mother screaming.  That’s when I remembered the hockey stick in the hallway closet.  I had to do something.  He’d hit her so many times before and I’d ignored it and told myself it wasn’t happening.  I got up out of bed raging mad and crept out my doorway.  I went in the closet and began rooting through the hanging coats for my stick.  I had it in my hand when I felt the closet door slam shut on my arm and any courage I had up until that point quickly retreated.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?!  I told you you’re grounded.  Put your coat away and get back in your room!”  my dad shouted.

“Outta my way!” I yelled back.  Grabbing me in the hallway, he tried to pin me against the wall.  I quickly ducked to the floor and ran out from underneath him.  I felt like I was fighting for my life, I’d never been so afraid.  I ran to the living room where my mom was sitting on the floor in tears, her hair hiding her face.  My dad walked in with fists clenched and furious.  Negative energy emanated off him like heat from the coals of an incinerator.  I thought we were both in for a beating.  I looked up at him and met his eyes, but those weren’t the eyes I knew as a child.  He turned toward the door and left, slamming it hard on the way out.
Everything was quiet now.  I sat there with my mom, holding her.  She cried and the tears fell onto my arm.  I didn’t say anything, I didn’t even cry.  I was suddenly emotionless.  What the hell just happened?  Once again, I didn’t know what to say or how to even begin to comfort her.  She looked up at me and it was still hard to look into her eyes.  They were black and bruised and her mouth was bleeding.

“I’m going to call Tara, okay?” I told her.  She nodded.

The phone rang a few times.  My sister was probably ignoring the call because she knew it was me, so I kept trying and trying until finally she answered.

“Are you fucked?!”  she shouted at me when she picked up.

“Tara, you need to get home right now,”

“Why?  What the hell have you...” she began to reply but I cut her off before she could finish.

“Because mom is hurt and dad just left,”  I didn’t go into detail.  Tara would know what I meant.  There was silence on her end.  I sat there on the sofa watching my mother dab at the blood on her face with a tissue, both of us in constant fear that my father would soon return.

Finally she replied.  “Okay, I’m leaving now,”

Mom and I sat at the kitchen table and were just sort of talking about things we used to do together when me and Tara were kids.  Just the three of us.  My mom sort of started on the topic.  She asked me if I remembered going on the train ride at Assiniboine Park when I was little and how much I used to love it.  There was a picture of me and her together on it somewhere and she was going to try and find it.  I also remember all the trails they have in the forest at the park and I used to love running through them getting completely lost and looking for snakes.

“Oliver, I remember one time you came out from the trees to our picnic table with this big Garter Snake in your hands that you caught.  You kept chasing Tara around the park with this big snake and you came up to me after and asked why she didn’t want to see your pet snake.  You didn’t understand why she was so afraid,”

I let out a quick chuckle and just stared down at the table.  “Tara is afraid of everything,”

My mom laughed.  “She’s a girl, Ollie.  Most girls are afraid of snakes,”

There was a pause in the conversation.  I glanced at the holoclock on the wall.  It’s a holographic projection of the time and date projected from a light fixture or switch with a small built-in projector.  It was 5:43PM.  I had called Tara twenty minutes ago and she wasn’t here yet.  How far away did this guy live?  No sooner did I say that, the front door swung open and mine and my mother’s heart went into our throats, for that once, and only that once, it was a relief to hear my sister’s voice.

“Mom?”

“We’re up here,”  I replied.

Tara came running up the stairs from the landing, visibly upset.  Her eyes studied our mother hard, checking to insure she was okay.  It could have been much worse.  He’s never beat her so bad to the point where we’ve needed to call an ambulance or anything.  We tried to call the police once but she wouldn’t let me or Tara call.  Mom was too afraid of what my Dad might do in retaliation and she bought his hollow promises that he would never lay another hand on her.  Now she just takes it as part of the package deal.  Mom puts up with it.

“Oh my God, mom, are you okay?” Tara pulled up a chair beside her and gave her a hug after examining her black eyes.  She brushed the hair from mom’s face and began to cry on her shoulder.
“It’s okay, Tara, it’s okay, I‘m fine,”

“No it’s not okay!  You’re not fine.  Look at you!  Look at what he did!” my sister cried.

Mom went silent and the three of us sat there.  I listened to Tara sob for a few minutes before I left the room.  I walked outside in my socks and went around the backyard and stood against the house looking toward our shitty garage and back lane.  Grey clouds overcast our house and made everything else around look so dull and pointless in its existence.  I looked up and just started to cry.  I let the tears come gushing out like someone uncapped a fire hydrant.  My eyes couldn’t hold them anymore.  My sadness soon turned to rage.  I began picking up rocks along the side the house and throwing them at the garage.  I frantically searched for larger and bigger ones to throw to do more damage.  I kept envisioning my father and it made me angrier.  Tools made a clanging sound as they fell to the ground inside the garage from the rocks hitting the wall and a neighbour peered out their window from across the lane to see what was going on.  I didn’t care though.  I went back to my spot beside the house and sat down and cried again.  I felt hopeless and confused.  Where do we even begin to right our wrongs? I thought.  My socks were black and stained now, as well as my jeans were dirty.  My hands were muddy as well.  I was such a mess.  Wiping my hands on my Doors t-shirt, I kept thinking how this must feel what hitting rock bottom is like.  A tropical storm went through my head and mixed up my thoughts and my morals.  I didn’t give a shit what was good or what was bad anymore.  Images of my father storming into the living room cornering me and mom and the fight me and him had in the hallway replayed in my mind.  I didn’t know what to think of any of it.

I finally went back inside when I was ready, where my mother and sister were still sitting in the kitchen.  I came and sat back down in my chair to join them at the small round dining table.

“Pack up your things,” said my sister.  There was a still silence in the house.

 I glanced up from the floor toward Tara.  “Why?”

“PACK UP YOUR SHIT, OLIVER,” she sternly commanded.  “We’re going to stay at Auntie Cheryl’s,”

I did as I was told and began packing.  I packed anything and everything that I could stuff into a large duffle bag.  My stereo -- which didn’t take up much room anyway -- a bunch of clothes, computer, camera, a photo of me and mom and I brought my guitar as well.  I also took along a backpack.
We all met up at the front door, including Charlie, and then proceeded to load everything into mom’s car and drove to her sister’s.  I didn’t know how long we’d be there for, but I knew it might be a while, so I made sure I took everything.  It was back to school in the morning, anyway.

Imagine that, all this shit I had to go through tonight and now I’m supposed to go to school the next day like nothing’s wrong.  And the school system wonders why some kids are so fucked up?  The shit some kids deal with at home and then they’re expected to come to school the next morning and be “normal” and conduct themselves in a composed manner.  

Follow the rules, fit the mould, get good grades, be on all the sports teams, be popular, buy new clothes every month, get braces, get a hair cut, finish projects on time, pass exams, be a good example, make your teachers proud, stay out of the principal’s office, have the most signatures in your yearbook, wear expensive shoes, say the right things, smile all the time,  gossip about anyone and everyone, don’t get detention, graduate on time.  Ha! All fine for kids who got their shit together at home.  What about the ones who don’t?  Where every day is a battle with adversity.  No, we just get sent to the school counsellors room to be examined, put on medication or put to work in smaller groups in separate classrooms with other fucked up kids.  Story of my life.

I thought about Saphyre as we drove to my Auntie Cheryl’s.  I wanted to see her again so bad.  She made me feel like everything was great.  Like, as if things couldn’t be better.  It’s wild how a girl can do that to you.