I remember hiding under my mothers vanity. So small I could crouch down in the corner, against the wall, behind her trash can, so small I could be safe.
From my father.
I watched his bare feet, as he rushed about the room looking for us. In frustration, he shot the ceiling.
The sound of his feet seemed so loud until the shot rang out. He was right next to me. So close he could touch me, but he didn't know where I was hiding.
I lost the hearing in my left ear that morning. I'd lost so much more before that, growing up under extreme abuse.
I did not know what was happening while I waited, slow drips of blood falling out of my ear. It was so quiet in the house after that.
For the longest time I waited there.
Crouched while my blood clotted against my neck.
Wondering if it was safe to come out? Wondering where he was? Wondering if help would come? I remembering praying, "Please, oh god, let help come."
Which was strange to me. We did not go to church. I found it to be useless in the end. Nothing changed.
When it was time to come out from hiding, I'd stuffed myself in there so long I had to crawl out with my arms and let my body expand behind me, blood rushing back into my feet.
It was quiet.
There was not a person in the house where 10 people lived, it was just me. The whole house was empty. I peeked out the curtain and there were my brothers and sisters across the street, speaking w police.
My mother, held a respected position within the superior court, and, as such, new many of the faces in the halls of justice in our town.
She was horrified and embarrassed. I could see that much in her face as I ran toward her. That's when I noticed my father in the back seat of the cruiser nearby. His red face, steaming the windows.
My mother handed me off to my siblings and went to speak to the police. I don't know what she said and it seemed to take forever. But when she was done, the police opened the car door, helped him out, uncuffed him and handed him off to her. He seemed smaller then, bent over in his white underwear, bare feet, chaotic hair.
As my parents embraced I knew. I KNEW they were going to let him go.
What I DID not expect, was for them to hand him back his gun.
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