Spilled Milk: Based on a true story (4 page)

We sat there in silence. I wished Thomas would burst
through his bedroom door and ask for cereal. Or that the dog would come to the
back door wanting to be let back in. His voice hissed the last part,
Right?

How can he sit across the table from me drinking his
coffee like that? My fingers pinched the skin between my eyes as I strained to
figure out if I was awake or still asleep. Is he really saying this to me right
now?

“Good,” he said, accepting my silence as confirmation.
“In that case, I think we need to talk about your bedtime being changed.”

“Dad, I said I was sorry.” I spoke carefully,
pleading.

He held up his hand. “I think a girl your age deserves
to go to bed at… I don’t know, nine o’clock every night. No more eight thirty.
What do you think?”

I hated the smile that spread across my face. A half
an hour increase in bed time meant a less amount of time I had to spend in my
bedroom at night.

“Aunt Jean and Uncle Bruce are here,” Adam screamed,
running from around the corner and almost into the kitchen table.

“Shut up, I don’t need you running around here like a
god damn wild animal.” Dad pushed his newspaper away and stood up to adjust his
bathrobe. “Sure, just stop on in anytime,” he mumbled. “Molly, get in here!”

Mom appeared from the bathroom as she threw her head
back and popped two white pills into her mouth. I had trouble swallowing
medicine when I was sick but Mom could swallow multiple pills
and
without water.

“What, Dave, whatdya want?” Her words sloshed around.
“I’m right down the hall, not across the street.” The comment made me cringe as
I waited for Dad to take offense to it but two heavy knocks on the front door
diffused the moment.

“I’ll get it,” I said, sprinting towards the door.

“Brooke! Honey here, take these bags.” Aunt Jean
handed me two grocery bags of food. “Go go, you know where they belong. Molly!
How are you, so good to see you.”

The yellow plastic brushed along the ground as I
fought with the weight to get it into the kitchen in one piece. Adam and I
spent the next fifteen minutes dragging yellow bags inside as Mom put on tea
and Dad changed out of his robe. I loved visitors.

“Dave, how’s work, keeping you busy?” Uncle Bruce
outstretched a firm hand.

“Doesn’t need to. I got four kids at home to do that
for me.”

Uncle Bruce smirked at the comment. “Yea, Jean is
about ready to pop any day now.” He rubbed his middle section. “Can’t wait to
meet the little guy.”

“Mmm.” Dad chugged the last of his coffee.

“I can’t believe how tall Adam is getting,” Uncle
Bruce continued. “Where’s Thomas? I must have missed him when we walked in.”

Dad didn’t even try and guess. “Brooke, go find Thomas.”

A statement more than a demand. Thomas had spent most
of his day out front yesterday poking ants with a safety pin, so I had a pretty
good idea of where he was. I left the chatter of the kitchen and pushed open
the front door.

Alyssa was walking up to the house as I let my eyes
adjust to the sun. We had a bet going on how many people were living in the
blue house three houses from mine. Last time we counted there had been over
twelve people. This time I was betting on at least fifteen and Alyssa thought
maybe there would be eighteen.

“Spanish families live like that, all of them
together,” Alyssa taught me, “This way they have more money and more people to
do the chores.”

“Ohhh,” I nodded. “Maybe that’s what my parents are
trying to do, keep having kids, make a Spanish family.”

“Maybe,” Alyssa said. “Aren’t you Irish?”

Slurpee’s from 7-11 were riding on our bet, and I was
expecting an update. My quest to find Thomas was forgotten and we paid little
mind to the police car that pulled up in front of the house. Then I noticed
that Thomas was sitting teary eyed in the back.

The police man was tall and brushed the sweat off his
forehead as he went around to the passenger side to fetch him. He opened the
door and said something in a lowered voice. My throat tightened.

“Is that..?” Alyssa asked, staring through the summer
sun. She strained her neck to get a better view of the kid sitting in the back
seat. A piece of hair fell from her ponytail and she tucked it behind her ear,
her eyes never leaving the street.

“I think…Ohhhh no, that’s THOMAS!” Alyssa gushed, wide
eyes shooting towards me.

“Something’s wrong,” I said, heading toward the house
to get mom.

“Yea something’s wrong. Thomas is in the back of a cop
car. Where’s his bike? Didn’t he ride his bike to 7-11? Hey, where you goin’?”
Alyssa’s voice trailed behind me.

I had already reached the front door and was pulling
it open before I could answer. I knew that look on Thomas’ face. He wasn’t in
trouble, I knew. Something had happened to him. I knew when Adam was about to
cry, and when Kat was scared. The amount of time I spent with them, watching
over them, it was like I could read their minds now.

I spared Mom the rush of panic that was bound to set
in and gushed out before she could process what I said, “Thomas is outside in a
cop car! Come quick!”

Panicked voices, mainly Aunt Jean’s, followed behind
me as I turned on my heel to head back outside. “What? Thomas? What are you
talking about?” The only footsteps I didn’t hear following were Dad’s.

I opened the front door and almost fell off the front
step in a flurry of curiosity. If I stood far enough on the edge of the house I
would be able to listen to their conversation without Mom telling me to go
inside. I chose a place under the boy’s bedroom window and sat on the ground,
putting my finger to my lips in a non-verbal cue for Alyssa to keep quiet.

Thomas had been crying. Luminous trails where tears
slid down his dirty face reflected in the sun. Mom had buzzed his hair yesterday
and his white scalp was bright against the sun. At eight years old he was only
a year younger but he had at least fifteen pounds on me. He kept his head down
but the second he saw Mom he broke down into a fit of sobbing.

“Are you okay? Thomas what happened?”

“Ma’m, are you this boy’s mother?” The officer stood in
front of my mom, nodding his heads in Thomas’ direction.

“What’s going on?” Mom demanded. Her eyes revealed no
room for patience.

“Ma’m a clerk from the 7-11 called 9-1-1 because they
saw your son get assaulted. Two teenage boys held a knife to your son’s throat for
his bike. They got away on it, and a good Samaritan tried to follow them, but they
had a truck on the corner and they threw the bike into the back and took off.”

I turned towards Alyssa and her eyes were as wide as
mine.

“I’m sorry.” Thomas sobbed while wringing his hands in
his shirt. “I’m sorry they took my bike, Mom.”

“
How
many times have I told you that you go to
the store
with
someone? See what happens? You think you can just go
anywhere? Well, you CAN’T.”

At this point several neighbors had gathered outside.
They pretended to water dead flowers on their porch or sweep, anything to have
a reason to be outside at just this moment.

“Ma’m,” the policeman tried again, “Your son was just
assaulted. Would you like us to escort you to the hospital, have him checked
out?”

My mom bent over and did a sweep of Thomas’ neck. “You
said they held a knife to his throat?” she asked, looking for a wound.

“Yes Ma’m, a pocket knife is what the clerk said.”

“Well, he looks fine. Go on get inside. And wash your
face.”

Thomas pushed his way through blurry tears and rushed
inside. The police officer lingered.

“The store doesn’t have security cameras, so we’re
going to take what testimony we have from witnesses and see what we can do
about getting his bike back. We at least have a description of the truck and a
partial license plate, but I wouldn’t be surprised if nothing pulled up. This
kind of thing is happening more and more around here.”

“Thank you,” Mom said, uninterested. “He just got that
bike, so if it’s not found then maybe it’ll teach him a lesson.”

The officer looked over at Alyssa and I sitting off to
the side. His eyes softened. “We’ll let you know what turns up, Ma’m. I’m sorry
for the scare.”

Mom pulled out a cigarette as the officer made his way
back to the car. The mumbling under her breath had grown to a loud whisper by
the time he turned his key in the ignition, and as he drove away Mom finally noticed
the hoards of neighbors standing around watching.

 She puffed a cigarette and exhaled a steady stream of
smoke. With that exhale came a round of tears that let the neighbors know that
something bad had happened.
Poor Molly, poor Molly and her troubles. So many
kids, so much stress.

Mom crushed her butt into the concrete, wiped away a
tear, and made her way into the house to give Thomas hell.

“We’re running
away,” I told Kat. She watched me stuff two shirts into a suitcase. “We’re
going to Grandma’s house. I know the way, we can walk there. I have two
suitcases. This one is yours.” I pointed. “Put some pajamas in there, no toys.
We’ll sneak out the window after everyone goes to bed. Okay?”

Kat nodded and
walked over to her dresser to start packing.

I was going to be twelve that summer. I finished
packing my suitcase while I remembered when Mom got her first back surgery. I
was seven then, and Dad started to tuck us in at night since Mom couldn’t do
that anymore. She couldn’t do much with rods and screws in her back. Always a
heavy sleeper, my sister would be tenderly snoring after a few minutes of him
rubbing her back and I would try not to fidget while I waited for my turn.

I don’t remember how long it usually took me to fall
asleep. I don’t remember when my back rubs turned into chest rubs, and then
stomach rubs. By the time Dad was spending close to forty five minutes in my
room at bedtime I would pretend to be asleep, squeezing my eyes shut so hard I
would see white.
You’re sleeping
, I convinced myself,
and everything
is fine because you’re sleeping. Everything is fine.

I couldn’t call out. Mom was passed out from her
pills. Kat could sleep through an earthquake. The boy’s bedroom was on the
other side of the house. There was no one.

Kat was a heavier sleeper, Dad knew this. He had spent
a long time on the side of my bed one night. That time it had hurt, and I held
my stomach when he got up to walk away afraid I would throw up. He crept to the
other end of the bed, though, and sat down next to Kat.

Just as he was about to reach over I jumped up kicking
my legs and using my arms to hit the water bed.

As the bed rolled and shook, Kat startled awake and
started crying. Dad bent down and tried to console her. His eyes struggled to
see me through the shadows of the room but when they met with mine they threatened
him in silence.

Don’t you dare touch her
. My pajamas were soaked with my tears as my chest
heaved.
Don’t you dare lay a single finger on her. I’ll tell. Try me.

My message was clear, and after Kat’s cries subdued,
he walked to the bedroom door and crept out without saying a word. I laid back
down and put my foot against my sister’s leg so I could monitor if there was
any movement, as I always did.
I’ll protect you, baby sister, I’ll protect you.

Mom couldn’t protect us anymore. Even if she wanted
to, she couldn’t. Those white pills did too much; she was in too much pain to
notice. That night I realized the new role I took in my family. I didn’t want
it. It became an unspoken rule from that point on. If I didn’t fight, if I kept
his secret, he wouldn’t hurt Kat. The idea was that as long as I knew he was
hurting me, he couldn’t be hurting her. It was the only way I knew how to
protect her. I had to protect her.

When bedtime rituals became painful, I made the
decision to run away. Kat would have to come with me. I thought about my
brothers, but noticed that after Dad would spend the time in my room the night
before, he would take it easier on them the following day with his physical
attacks. He roared a little less. I figured if Kat and I were gone, maybe he
would be nicer to them. Then he wouldn’t be hurting me or my brothers. It had
to work.

Adam and Thomas seemed calmer then too since they
didn’t have to run from his outstretched hand or his belt. I kept the harmony
and the balance. I shivered watching Kat close the latches on her suitcase. I
didn’t want to think about the next morning when everyone woke up to see us
gone. I hoped Adam and Thomas would protect each other if Dad tried to hurt
them. Maybe they would run away too.

Mom had come home that afternoon from a doctor’s
appointment. She was scheduled to go in for another back surgery, but they
would need to wait because she had something called Shingles. She was talking
on the phone in the kitchen and I heard her saying that it was something
deadly. It was my deciding factor. If Mom was going to die, I had to get out
before she did. I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t imagine living in that house
with only Dad.