“What we think, or what we know, or what we believe is, in the end, of little consequence. The only consequence is what we do.”
—John Ruskin

 

A

lthough never someone I could lean on, Teresa’s absence created a huge void in my life. I occasionally called her to talk about problems with Daddy, but she had little interest in me. Busy starting a new life and getting ready for motherhood, she had little time for my problems.

Sitting in my room one morning, I heard a loud crash come from the kitchen. I nearly tripped as I raced down the hall to find Daddy cowering on the floor in front of the refrigerator and mom standing over him holding a large cast iron frying pan in her hand.

“You sick bastard!” Mom shouted as she swung the pan hitting him on the side of his head.
He cried out in pain.

I grabbed the pan from mom’s hand before she could hit him again, and pulled her out of the room.

“What the fuck happened?” I demanded.

Mom shook uncontrollably. “I caught him with Colleen,” she said. “That son-of-a-bitch was touching Colleen!”

I sat her down on the couch, and went back into the kitchen to get her a glass of water.  Daddy sat on the floor whimpering like a baby. I grabbed a dishtowel from the counter and threw it at him. He pressed the towel against his head, glanced up at me, and laughed.
I looked at the pan struggling with the temptation to hit him with it myself.

“Clean yourself up, asshole. And, if you’re smart, you won’t say a God damned word.”

A small trickle of blood slid down the side of his cheek and, still smiling, he giggled.

“Christ, she could have killed me.”

“Too bad she didn’t,” I snapped back.

Incredibly, he grinned again. “Give her some time and she will get over it. She always does.”

His words rang true. Mom’s desperate need for calm was her greatest weakness. She seldom got angry, but when she did, it was over quickly. She was good at sweeping worrisome issues out of her mind and getting on with her life. However, this time she seemed to be at the end of her tether.

Mom and I packed a suitcase and put the girls into the car. Standing in front of the car, he begged Mom not to leave.

“Come on, Shirley.  Come back inside so we can talk about this.”  

Mom put the car in reverse, and stepped on the gas, spraying him with a shower of gravel as we pulled out of the driveway.

We stayed in a motel that night, ordered a pizza, and after tucking the girls into bed, Mom and I watched television in silence.

Speaking my mind had never been a problem for me, but for once I had nothing to say. I had spent my entire life fantasizing about this day, imagining the sense of relief I would feel knowing Mom finally saw him for what he was. However, the relief I expected eluded me.

After everyone had fallen asleep, I sat in the chair thinking about what had happened. My mind whirled as it raced from one question to another. Why didn’t I feel better? I had always believed that when Daddy was gone, all my anger would immediately disappear. But that had not happened. The anger inside me was as hot as ever.

Mixed in with the anger, I felt the ugly head of jealousy appear. I was glad Mom could no longer deny the truth about Daddy. However, I was angry that despite years of trying to warn her that he would hurt the girls, she had done nothing until she caught him touching Colleen.
I loved my sister with all my heart, but it hurt knowing Mom cared more for her than she did for me. I realized catching him in the act must have jolted her into action, but that still didn’t explain why she wouldn’t believe me when I told her what he was doing. Why was it so easy for her to ignore me?

Even now, after she knew the truth, she made no effort to comfort me or acknowledge that she had been wrong not to take me seriously when I begged her to do something about him. Sitting in the dark, I realized the vindication I had so desperately been searching for was not to be.

As tears streamed down my cheeks, I also realized she always knew I was telling the truth.