Tears

The child sat in her corner crying, tears spilling silently down her puffy red cheeks with her head resting on her knees, arms wrapped around herself. Her mind kept reeling over the events of the past day. She had been in the kitchen cleaning up a mess of broken glass. Her dad had come in just minutes before then and started screaming at her. It seemed that he was in a bad mood that day and as always, he took it out on her. He screamed and ranted and told her to get that mess cleaned up before he got even madder. Then suddenly the conversation had made a swift change of topic. Her. He began calling her names and then began ranting about her school grades and began telling her to do better. He was so mad that as he turned to leave the kitchen he swatted and threw a glass vase off the marble counter and it shattered into millions of pieces. He glanced at her and said in a low, dark voice
"Clean that up. Now." And she did.
She cleaned until she thought the ground was spotless. For she knew that's what her dad expected of her and she knew as well that if she didn't do as he asked, she was asking for a beating. So here she was now, sitting in a corner hidden behind the side of the couch, and out of site. If she was in view of her father, he would end up screaming at her again if he hadn't calmed down. Which was unlikely in the four hours that he'd had time to do so. And here she was, going on fifteen now and still afraid of her father. She shook her head, shaking taking over her body. How could she be so stupid? How could she have been so clumsy as to drop a glass? A simple glass! She knew she was in trouble as soon as it happened and inside her head, she felt she deserved her dad being mad at her like that.
She couldn't help, though, the feelings of despair, of feeling worthless, of not feeling good enough for anything. She cried for the way her father was, and cried for how depressed she felt at that moment. It seemed nothing could lift her spirits. She had few friends at school and those who were her friends, she would never bring them over to her house; they would freak.
They worried for her, and she knew they did. But how could she tell them her lifestyle? Would they ever want to have anything to do with her again? Of course they would. She knew her friends weren't stupid like that. But they worried. They noticed signs of abuse. Though she believed that was only because they talked about the signs in their American Problems class. They noticed her avoidance of eye contact; the way she flinched every time they touched her. She thought they suspected physical abuse but no, it hadn't come to that, yet; and she didn't know if it ever would. Of course, they believed her when she said nothing was wrong but at times didn't let up on their beliefs. She sat there in her little corner and cried some more tears. She wished she had a better life, a better father. Wished someone would notice that something truly was wrong and do something about it. She was too afraid herself. Afraid of what her father would do or say to her if anyone found out.
Her mother was dead. She died two years after giving birth. She died of cancer. Since then her father had never been the same. And being an only child… she got full wrath of his anger. All except physically. Which she wasn't sure was better. And every time she tried to calmly speak to her father, it only ended up in anger and yelling and him always winning the argument.
When they were learning about child abuse, it said that if you know you are being abused or you know someone who is, that you need to tell another grown-up. But how are you supposed to do that when you're too afraid? It says it will take courage to do so, but isn't it courage just to be able to face up to the abuse as well, to actually believe that you are abused? She couldn't stop thinking and she ended up coming to the conclusion that no, it wasn't courage to deal with the abuse all alone. But she couldn't decide what to do about it. There was telling an adult or running away. Both were equally frightening. And no matter how much of a good idea it sounded she couldn't do either of the options. Being scared could have a good handle on you, especially when you were as young as she was.
Possibilities ran through her head, and the consequences with them. She shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut. The thoughts just wouldn't leave. They wouldn't go away and leave her alone. The fright wouldn't leave either. It came in waves. She'd be thinking something and then so suddenly she'd think of the consequences of those actions and she'd be as frightened as ever.
She'd read fantasy books and fairy tale books and the more she read them (especially books like Cinderella) the more she felt controlled by her father. He controlled her in every action she did. Even when she was at school, away from him. In all that she did, she worried and worried about whether her father would somehow find out and she'd get the wrath once again. But she couldn't take it much longer. She felt as if she was going to crack. Like something inside was going to burst, shattering any defense system she had. If she didn't do something now, she knew that what ever happened in the future she would surely deserve. If she began talking back, she would surely end up being hit or beaten.
She wondered, sometimes, whether she should goad him on so much to where he hit her so it wouldn't be such a hard decision for her to make. If only he did, for then she wouldn't feel like she wasn't making such a huge mistake.
Today was the worst for her though. Her dad had never gotten that mad at her and she was, quite frankly, astonished by his attitude. Astonished and hurt more then ever. So hurt that she couldn't stop the crying. She'd kept that crying in for so long that it seemed to not want to stop. So she just cried and cried and cried, hours on end, waiting for the tears to come to a halt. But that didn't happen 'till late in the evening.
As she looked up from her knee's, she felt more then saw how wet her legs were (for it was now completely pitch black) and she finally felt that the tears were letting up, that they were finally not getting the best of her. She wiped her red blotched eyes and slowly walked down toward her bedroom just down the hall. She felt she were in a daze as she walked down that hallway, but yet, her mind seemed clearer then ever. Finally after all these long years, she felt she had to do something about her situation of harsh abuse. She needed too. If she kept going the way she was going with her life now; if she let her father have that complete control, she had an awful feeling that he always would her entire life, even after she married. It scared her to death, knowing what she was about to do the following school day. But what choice did she have? She laid out her choices on a notepad in her head. She could either not tell anyone and be abused and controlled her entire life or, she could tell somebody, maybe face being kicked out of her home, and live abuse free. The latter sounded much more inviting then the first, except for the fact of being kicked out and trying to find some place else to live.
She lay on her bedspread now, sprawled on her back then squeezed her eyes closed again. She had to think positive, she just had too. Another tear leaked out as she thought about her father. He was good. She knew he was, somewhere in his heart. But, she couldn't handle it anymore.
The debate for what to do started again. She began rationalizing her earlier thinking. What possessed her to even think of going and telling a grown-up? That had to be one of the most spasmaratic thoughts she'd had since forever ago. A sigh slipped out of her mouth quietly and she rolled on her side, soon falling asleep. Her eyes tired and hurting from all that crying.
When she woke up the next morning, she heard her dad leave, slamming the door behind him. She flinched and looked towards the radio clock to her right. 5:30 in the morning. She had an hour before she had to leave and now that she was awake, she couldn't fall back asleep.
She thought back on the previous night and what she had about decided to do. A shiver sifted through her body at the thought and she sat up, holding a palm to her forehead. She stared at her bed sheets which were all wrinkled from sleep. The blue and green color's made her dizzy so she stood up and got ready for school.
The hour seemed to drag on. She had gone into the kitchen to get something to eat for breakfast and found a note on the table. It said "Daughter (for he never called her by her name anymore) I've gone out to work. I won't be back today so you better get your chores done. I don't care what you do after that. Dad."
She stared at the letter. He wouldn't be back today? What was she supposed to eat? They had hardly anything in their cupboards and not very much of what they had could be turned into an actual meal. Maybe for one meal but not three; not without having money for that day. She felt the urge to cry but suppressed it. Not today. She had school and she couldn't let anyone see that she was crying. And in reading that letter, she had come to a decision that she would not rationalize. She was gonna go ahead and tell her counselor before school started so that she couldn't change her mind suddenly during the day. And when she decided that, her heart began to race at the very thought.
What would he say? What would he do? Would she be left alone with her father when he found out? All the scary possibilities ran through her mind once more before she forced them to leave and have no thought at all except 'Go see your counselor'. So she blew out her breathe, put her coat and backpack on (for it was nearing the end of the winter) and walked out her front door. Immediately she could see her breath but that didn't bother her. What bothered her was the fact that she had to walk a couple miles, and it seemed like forever. For it gave her time to think. Too much.
Her steps faltered a few times as she thought, and fear gripped her. But finally she made it to school and she quickly walked towards the counseling center before any of her friends had a chance to even say hi.
She stood in front of the wooden door with a blurry window, the name "Mr. Ballard" written in black bulk letters. She took a deep breath, looked at the door, put her hand on the knob, turned it, and hesitantly but assuredly at the same time, walked in.