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Absolutely nothing but bring pain; pain from everything shoved behind it and pushing to get out. If all that it contained came spewing out, there is no way in hell I will ever recover from the torment.
“Sadie? What are you thinking about right now?” Dr. Eva asks as she crosses her legs with notepad and pen in hand.
I’ve been sitting in her office listening to the tick-tock from the clock on her desk for the past half hour, not wanting to be here a second longer.
“Nothing. I’m thinking about nothing.” I tuck my hands underneath my thighs.
“Sadie. You went through a traumatic experience and need to process those thoughts and feelings.” Her tone is soft and calming.
Thoughts and feelings, thoughts and feelings, blah, blah, blah.
My knee bounces while I stare out the window. It’s been cloudy the past few days and in the low twenties.
Dr. Eva’s office has a nice view of the city skyline, the tall trees coated in powdered snow, crystal-like flakes drifting with the breeze, and the fluffy white clouds that overshadow the city.
Many people believe sadness overpowers their senses on a cloudy day, but for me, a sense of calm envelopes me like a warm blanket tucked in front of a fireplace.
It’s quiet and peaceful. My mind shuts off for one day and all emotions have vanished.
I’m completely at its mercy.
“I love these days,” I whisper, wiping the tears from my face that I didn’t realize until now were falling.
“What days, Sadie?”
“Quiet days, like today. Dark, gloomy skies give me peace. It’s when I’m the calmest.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Because right now I don’tfeelanything. And today, I don’t want to feel, think, or process. You know why?” I don’t wait for a response. I turn away from the window to face Dr. Eva.
“Because it hurts. It hurts too much knowing there’s nothing I can do to make the pain go away. It’s stuck in here”— pointing to my head— “and here”— pointing to my heart. “My father’s gone, my mother is in a coma, my brother is missing, and I can’t do a damn thing about it, and the more I think about them—" I sniffle and wipe the tears from my face turning away from Dr. Eva—"The deader I feel inside. And I need to stay alive for my little girl.”
* * *
There are three missed calls and two unread text messages when I pull up to Abuela’s. I haven’t been home sinceithappened, and I don’t know if I can ever return.
My phone vibrates again.
Emotionally spent after my session with Dr. Eva, I ignore the call and slide out of my car. As I walk up the steps and turn the lock, I hear laughing and voices as I enter the house. I hang up my coat in the front closet and place my purse and keys on the table beside it.
I follow the voices to the living room and tears of joy build up behind my eyes as I take in the scene in front of me. I lean against the frame to enjoy the moment.
Abuela sits in her rocker knitting the blanket for Sophia she’s been working on since the accident. My chest tightens at the thought of Abuela blaming herself for what happened to mom. Mom never reported the abuse because she was afraid Dad would retaliate tenfold. Punishing Mom by aiming his anger toward his children. For the longest time, Mom believed she was the cause for the beatings, which in her eyes made her weak, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Mom is the strongest person I have ever known.
Day in and out, she worked her ass off to support her children by keeping a roof over our heads, rice and beans in our tummies, and warm beds to sleep in. If I didn’t spend half the time hating and blaming her for never leaving Dad, I failed to see what was hiding underneath her tough façade.
Shame for failing her family, fear her children would suffer a greater danger if we left, and belief that he would change one day, all while hoping that the last beating wouldbethe last. As much as she could, Mom used what strength she had left to take the beatings for us. I close my eyes and rewind the past like an old movie, trying to reconstruct my favorite scenes.
The way Mom would blast her favorite Marc Anthony song and dance while she vacuumed or stood behind the stove cooking. Once a week we walked a few miles to the grocery store. She made sure to stop by the local park each time so Josiah and I could have a taste of a normal childhood. At night she read to us, prayed with us, and checked on us a few times a night to make sure we were safe.
There wasn’t a day that she never said, “I love you,” or told us how proud we made her, even when we made choices that disappointed her.
She sacrificed herself by putting us first. She protected us the best way she knew how. I know that now.
I glance over at Ash who sits on the couch with Sophia in his lap. He’s bouncing her up and down as she makes adorable baby noises. Donnie sits on the floor folding Sophia’s laundry.
“Hey.” Donnie is the first person to notice me, just like when we were kids. He always knew when I was nearby.
