Comatose Scene 3

Hello Weekenders,

Here is scene three of Comatose! Enjoy!

3

December 15, 2003

A loud knock bangs in repetitions and wakes me from a deep sleep. It was the AC unit over doing itself once again, but the air still blew cool. On the other side of rhythmic knocks I heard voices come from downstairs. The sound I hear every night the past two weeks.

I climb from out of bed like I’ve done hundreds of times because I’ve been here more times than I’ve climbed from bed. Mom and dad are arguing again. Mom keeps getting dad’s fury when she doesn’t tell dad what she does at this new job of hers. Mom’s always defending herself by saying there’s food on the table and money in the bank, and that he should ask too many questions. Dad always says he doesn’t care. He’d rather know what his wife does all day.

This pitch black room keeps me comfortable and safe. It keeps me away from mom and dad yelling at each other all night. Their yelling goes on for hours at night, and I always wonder how grownups have so much to talk about. They’d yell so much that it was impossible for them to keep their voices down.

I could hear mom say, quiet, you’ll wake Emma. Dad didn’t care because he’d say, So! Are you afraid to tell your little girl what you do? She said, She’s a little girl. You’re gonna walk out on her, she’s seven!

I always wondered what mom did so bad, but she never told me. The arguing always seemed to go on forever. I’d be so tired, and I would wonder why the grown ups never slept. I thought you didn’t need sleep when you grow up. Mom and dad would be awake when I slept and would be awake when I woke up.

Mom would come to the door, and I’d see her shadow beneath the doorway, so I’d run to my bed and get under the covers as fast as I could. She’d never catch me because I was always too quick for her. But one night she didn’t come up to check on me. She left me upstairs, and I was scared, so I went down stair.

I passed the living room, and there was the Christmas tree lit bright with toys everywhere. Santa must of had his job handed to him. All the distraction from my mom and dad screaming, he didn’t have to worry about me hearing him down stair, and me catching him. He probably snuck in and out with ease, but I didn’t care about the presents.

I looked around the corner into the kitchen. My dad was pointing so violently at mom I thought he’d poke a hole right into her. My mom was crying, but it looked fake because there was no tears, and my dad always told me crying with no tears is fake. He always knew when I was whinny. He told me to stop because I’m not a baby.

Mom looked around dad, and I didn’t realize I was standing in the doorway. I didn’t sneak anymore. She said, Emma?

My daddy turned to me and kneeled in front of me and said, “I love you, baby girl. Daddy has to leave for a little while, but he’ll come back, ok?” He grabbed a bag that magically appeared next to me, or maybe I never saw it there in the first place. He walked to the front door and opened it, and I yelled to him. He looked back at me.

“I’m not a baby. I’m a big girl. I won’t be whiny, I promise.” I said.

“You’re right, you are a big girl. But you’ll always be daddy’s baby.” He said.

“No! I’m not a baby.” I said, and I grabbed his hand. “Please stay. I won’t be a baby. I’ll be big like you. Stay daddy.”

“You’re whiny now. You’ll always be daddy’s girl.” He grabbed my shoulders.

Mom said, “Then stay and her daddy, Frank.”

Dad just looked up at mom with scary eyes.

“Bye, Emma.” He said and pinched my chin.

I didn’t whine, I didn’t cry, I just sat there in the doorway as the cold air stripped me of my heart. My little confused heart that watched her father leave.

Micah H.

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