sometimes the memories just flow through my head. they seem fluid, like a continuous movie in water colors. some get stuck in the frame too long and i can’t get the reel to run correctly. sometimes i remember it like it’s today. i can smell the beer and cigarettes, i can hear the laughter, and i can feel the sickness in my stomach because i know what is coming next...i lived it, i was there. after that laughter comes the wrath.
the wrath was always looming in the background, just waiting for it’s chance to come out and play. the wrath would use them like fucked up marionettes. we could feel the wrath stretching in anticipation for the show. sometimes it was confined to just the two of them, but we always knew it was happening. when the wrath found us, there was no escape: there they were the puppets of my parents blocking all exits.
we had gone to stay with our meme because our parents were going to a chili cook-off, and we had luckily gotten out of having to tag along in the august texas heat at the most boring event for kids ever. instead of being dragged from one chili contestant to another with a stop to the beer tent in between everyone, we got to stay in the air conditioned heaven that was meme’s house. we played in the sprinkler, played with paper dolls, watched tv… it was our oasis.
i could see the wrath had already taken over when she came through the door. she was clumsy, miserable, slurring. i didn’t want to go. i remember walking out of meme’s door holding my sister’s hand and wishing we were spending the night. we would not be out of the wrath’s reach and everyone knew it.
the drive to our house was probably 7 minutes at 1 am on a sunday. i don’t remember any sounds, any movement, i just remember the smell of menthol cigarettes, cheap beer and her sunburned flesh. the vacancy of her hung heavy in the wooden paneled station wagon. the drive was too long and over too quickly. there was no way out of this. what can a 7 year old girl do?
i grabbed my sister’s hand again and rushed her into our bedroom as swiftly and quietly as i could. evasion seemed like a good course of action. if we could put our jammies on, say our prayers, and get in bed with our eyes closed maybe the wrath would not come in. i don’t know if i thought that in the moment, if i truly hoped or if i fooled myself into believing it would pass like in the story of the passover. i had no blood to wipe over the doorway. it came for us.
we were in bed with our eyes closed when it came for us. daddy’s voice boomed like the sound of a 10 gauge shotgun with the same inward recoil. momma’s voice sounded like cat’s mating. the wrath came into our bedroom before they did. it was looming over the calico printed canopy. my guts lurched outward. there she was yanking my sister from the bed, her voice shrilling words in a pitch that made them incomprehensible. she had taken my little sister into the fighting ring. she was too young and too frail, she was no fighter. the wrath had improved its storyline.
i ran into the living room to try to get my little sister out of there. there was broken glass. there were cigarette burns in the carpet. there was the green recliner tilted over resting against the wall. there were family pictures
the wrath: an account of addiction
-grace