Whiplash.
I didn’t understand what it was, I only knew that I couldn’t move my neck and I would have to be moved downstairs to my parents’ room for the next couple of weeks. A brief moment in the car looking back at a rattling noise as we went hard over train tracks, and suddenly I could not turn my head to either side. Through my cries I could hear my parents argue over whether to take me to the emergency room or not. Mom got her way, this time, and was told it could take a few days or a few weeks but that climbing stairs would be out of the question.
The lawn mower was buzzing outside the front window, the storm door swung open and shut a number of times, I tried to keep track of who went in and out and who was left in the house. Mom was at work, oldest brother was working as well, other brother was mowing the grass, and sister kept coming in and out of the house. This would mean that only the two of us remained.
I prayed for the footsteps to go farther down the hall to the bathroom, but instead they stopped at the doorway. “I brought you some soup….” The sweet voice sickened me. I much preferred the hateful voice, the insults, the threats. I could take the hate, what I couldn’t take was the sweet voice that dripped with poor intentions.
In my stirring and fear I made the mistake of scratching my left thigh under the blanket, not because it itched, but because he was suddenly sitting on the bed. I could feel myself detaching from reality as I heard him ask, “You have an itch?” Soft words that made me want to vomit.
Autopilot.
Eventually my sister heard me sobbing alone once again and came in to check on me. I didn’t even have to tell her that something had happened, she called my mom to tell her to come home.
Autopilot.
My brother gave me a threatening glare as my mom pulled into the drive way, he knew something was up. Mom rushed the garage where Dad had decided to go do some tinkering and cleaning. The arguing began and the front door slammed in a most threatening fashion as my brother blew past me. He would get me later for this.
Autopilot.
Mom came in first asking me to tell her what happened. I was timid, I could feel his shadow on the other side of the door. She sat next to me taking my hand, and for a moment I felt safe.
It was short lived as she called him into the room. He came and sat on the other side of me holding the other hand. I wanted to cry, I wanted my legs to be longer so they could touch the floor and I could run from there.
Then the silence was broken when my mom explained that the decision was mine and mine alone. If I felt like he did something then all I had to do was say so and she would make him leave. All I had to do was say the word and she would throw him out. Both of them sat there rubbing each of my hands, all I had to do….
His sickening sweet voice chimed in before I could finish my thought. “Now, you know I didn’t mean anything by it. Please don’t make me leave.”
Autopilot.