The moment I heard Mom receiving an unusual phone call around five in the morning (her voice was as clear as day in the corridor), I knew that our family was going to change forever. I couldn’t shake off the hardening feeling in my chest and Mom’s strange behaviour throughout the day confirmed that something bad was going to happen. After she picked me and my sister, Sarah, up from school, she confined herself to her bedroom all afternoon.
We were too scared to approach her because, well, Mom’s temper was legendary. In her worst mood, she was capable of anything, from screaming her head off at us in public to arguing with an innocent cashier. I felt sorry for them if they didn’t deserve it, but today I feared that it was my turn.
I hung around her bedroom door, obviously afraid to make any sudden movements that would irritate her. I imagined Mom swatting me with a broomstick or something harder than that if I dared knock and ask what was wrong. But since I was the eldest, it was my unwritten responsibility to find out what triggered her hostility and isolation. For all I knew, someone might have passed away. What type of daughter would I be to be staring at the door while my dearest mother was letting a pillow soak up all her tears?
I leaned in and tried to listen, but I couldn’t hear any sobs, or anything else for that matter. Just pure, eerie, hair-raising silence that immediately made me feel uneasy. This is not a horror movie! I tried to console myself. There was no way she did the ‘s’ word. No way.
“Why are you standing there? Text her!” my 12-year-old sister urged me, suddenly appearing beside me.
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“We can’t just leave her in there like that! Do something!”
“No. Look, we’ll just play it out until Dad comes home. He’ll know what to do.”
“Fine.”
Sarah swept a loose piece of her long brown hair behind her ears and crossed her arms. “If anyone gets accused of not showing her any sympathy or something, I’m blaming you.”
“Go finish your homework,” I scolded her as she rolled her eyes in response. Teenagers!
Dad’s bakkie pulling up in the garage a few hours later came as a huge relief, but deep inside, I felt like all hell was about to break loose. “Dad!” Sarah burst out of nowhere and ran straight into our father’s arms, immediately halting his proud stride. “Hello, my angels. Why are you so happy today?” “Mommy is…”
“Sarah, shut up,” I interrupted and reduced the volume of the television. “I don’t know what’s going on with Mom. She’s been in the room all day and the door is locked. We’re worried about her.”
“I asked Diana to text her but she doesn’t want to!”
“What do you think a text is going to do, huh?”
“It’s going to…”
“Girls, girls, stop arguing. Let me go find out what’s wrong.” Sarah stuck out her tongue at me after we watched Dad disappear upstairs. “You’re so immature, Sarah.”
“Whatever.”
Before I could take the remote, Sarah grabbed it off the table and changed the channel to Trace Urban. I let her, sitting down instead and silently waited for chaos to fall upon us. We heard Dad calling Mom’s name, a door opened and slammed seconds later.
Sarah shrieked quietly and we held our breath, uneager to find out what would happen next. The next thing we knew, my prediction came true. It was fierce, fast and merciless to our fragile ears. Glasses broke, objects were thrown and my parents voices were raised to the maximum. Mom was accusing Dad of something, the conversation was too vague to understand. More glasses broke and Sarah ran into my arms. Her body shivered against mine and I felt her heart beating at an abnormal rate.
“Get out, you liar!” we heard Mom cry. “No…” Sarah whispered in fear and covered her ears, repeating to herself that ‘this’ wasn’t happening. “It’s okay.” My shaky voice said as we both winced at a loud crash upstairs. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay…”
Mickey Nekomba is 19 years old, is currently studying English at the Polytechnic of Namibia and hopes to become a successful author in the future. Email her at mickey.brianna@yahoo.com.
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