Why was my father acting this way? Who was this woman? Why was she in our home? in our bathroom? in our bedroom? Was she in my room? My mother was crying as she walked inside, and I ran back to my brother. She opened the front door and told us to get inside.
I felt this unsafe feeling walking in. I knew there was going to be a fight, and when that happened, it was my mother who always took the hits. “Go upstairs,” she said. And I heard her yell, “I want a divorce!” My brother and I walk into our room, and I looked around as if that woman had taken something from our rooms and bathroom. Now that I think of it, I must have looked hilarious walking into every room as if we had just gotten robbed.
My brother was so traumatized by all the fighting that went on that he just went straight to his corner of the bed. As we lay next to each other for comfort, I looked out the window to the moon as I always did. The nights we were in bed and our parents were fighting were scary. The moon that once smiled at me was now angry. It had me imagining the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz was coming for us.
My attention was stuck on the window because I had to protect my brother from her, and I couldn’t sleep much those nights. Time went by, and I suddenly heard a door slam and heard my grandfather’s voice. I ran downstairs to greet him, and he gave me a kiss and a hug.
“Let’s sit down and talk,” said my grandfather. “What are you going to do about all this?”
And my mother said, “Divorce.”
I saw my dad take his wallet out and throw it at my grandfather’s chest. He then said, “She can have all my money!” My father started walking up the stairs and came back down with all his clothes. I cried and begged him to not leave. He kissed me and left. I didn’t see much of my dad after that. He went on to live with the woman whom we saw in our home, and they had two children.
My mother went on with her life alone for a while and had my new baby brother. I remember being outside the hospital window with my father and Jerry to take a look at my new baby brother. My mother named him Jeffrey. I was pretty excited for him to come home. I helped my mother a lot with whatever she needed for him.
Things were okay for a bit, except for that empty feeling I had of my father not being home. She then met a new man who had no children and was never married. Everything took a turn for the worst when we finally met him.
Chapter Two
A Monster
The phone rang.
“Hello?” The person on the other line started asking me questions about my mother. I was quickly angered by this disgusting man who was asking me perverted questions about her. I hang up and went about playing with my brothers. Not long before that, we saw a man who started coming into our home, hugging and kissing our mother.
He was touching her in ways that were inappropriate, especially in front of us. It led me to believe he was the one who was calling with all the dirty questions. I despised him so much. The only man who should have been there should be my father. There was a lot after that I don’t remember, until one night, I woke up to my brother Jerry’s crying. It wasn’t the nightmare cry; it was a different cry. I always slept with my brothers in the same bed and was a light sleeper. That night, I turned over, and the man (who had moved in) was hitting my brother in the head, asking him who his father was.
My brother would say “Jerry is my dad,” and he would hit him harder. My brother realized he needed to say this man’s name. They called him Rocky. Our monster was dark with ugly teeth and tattoos all over his body. One tattoo in particular that I would always remember was one on his neck of a skull with a syringe. My brother would yell out his name, and then he would stop and go back to my mother’s room. I cried for my little brother and had so much hate toward this man. My mother came into the room and asked if we were okay, and I yelled out, “No! He hit Jerry really hard!”
My mom went back to their room, and I heard an argument, then it got quiet. Next thing I know, he was walking into our room and came and hit me on the head. My head was throbbing, but I also felt numb. I was so scared of this man that I just took the pain and stayed awake, hoping he wouldn’t come into the room again. After that incident, I don’t remember us getting hit again for a while.
One night, my mother woke us and told us to stay in the room and not go downstairs. She went downstairs for a bit. Now that I am older, I’m assuming she was locking all windows and doors. My mother came back upstairs, looked out our window that was always open, (we never had air-conditioning) and started yelling to someone, saying, “He’s not here! Just go away!” Our bed was always at the window, so I got up to look out, and it looked like my cousin Beto and a gang of guys with bats and pipes. Next thing I know, I heard windows breaking downstairs. We started crying and screaming, and I heard my mom yell that she was going to call the police. Next thing I know, I was waking up my mother’s cousin Connie, who lived across from us, and she took us in for the night.
On the next day, I realized that we were moving out and moving in with my aunt Lydia, but everyone called her Lila. I was actually excited because my cousin Becky and I were close just like my mother and aunt, and we were going to get to spend a lot of time together. I didn’t see Rocky around for a while, but I did see my dad a little more. My mother would walk me to school and pick me up every day. I loved school; I loved reading in class and writing.
Coming home one day, I walked into my aunt’s apartment and saw Rocky there talking to one of my uncles. I felt the anger again, and this time, it was toward my mother as well for having him there after everything he did to me and my little brother. Rocky was a man who, from what I know now, owed people money, shot up heroin, drank every day, worked as a carpenter on occasion, and had been in the service before. He came toward me and said, “Hi, mija.” And I just ran upstairs. I had to make sure my brothers were okay.
My aunt lived in the same projects as we did, just on another street. They were all green with beige trim, and they all looked pretty much the same inside. As I was upstairs, I wondered if my mother was still seeing him, so I went back downstairs slowly and saw them hugging. Both my brothers were safe playing with their toys. I was so upset I threw a tantrum, hoping it would make him leave, but it didn’t work. He tried to be nice, but deep down, I knew it was fake. I noticed that he was coming around a lot more; he was at every barbecue or birthday parties we would have. He was always pretty much drunk at those events.
One morning, I woke up and saw my mom packing all our things. She looked up and said, “We are moving into a house.” Yay! I started waking Jerry up to tell him the good news. “We’re moving in with Rocky” she said.
I was devasted and scared. “I do not want to go,” I said.
She yelled at me and said I had to. So we moved pretty quick into our first house on San Jacinto Street. The house was big and had a huge yard with a fence around it. It was blue and white, had two bedrooms, and was painted all white inside. There was also another very small house in the same lot that the landlord was using for storage. So you can imagine how big the yard was.
We settled in, and things started going okay for a while, until one day, he got home from work and started fighting with my mom and punched her in the face. We sat on the couch. We were so frightened of him that we didn’t make a sound or even move. My mom would just take his hits as if she were used to it.
My mom found a job at this hotel called Christy Estates; it was a very popular place that many people wanted to stay in. A few of them had custom-made Jacuzzis that were very beautiful. At times, she would have me go on the weekends to help her. It made me wonder at times if she took me so he wouldn’t be near me. I liked helping her, but I found myself
