Jay looks at me, biting his lips. That look tells me to be quiet. That I let him handle the situation. I broke Ma’s favorite vase and she told Pa. Jay admits to Pa that he was the one who broke it. Pa doesn’t say anything. He leads Jay to our room and shuts the door behind them. Then I hear Jay’s screams. He’s still wiping his tears when they step out of the room. For three days after that Jay can’t sit straight. His pinky finger is bent unnaturally. Pa is suddenly attentive to him and me. Ma doesn’t say anything.
There were times when my mouth would hurt, too. He’d slap or punch me if I refused to take him in my mouth. It was filthy. It smelled of urine and sweat. I didn’t like it. But I didn’t like his slaps or punches more so I took him in my mouth.
He holds the sides of my head, pushing it down till there are tears in my eyes. He doesn’t stop, though. If he sees my tears he’d only ram my head further, making me want to throw up. I don’t want to throw up. When I did the last time he punched me so hard my nose puffed up and bled so much I thought I’d die. Maybe it’s better if I died. He pulls and pushes my head unto his lap and groans so I know this will be over soon. He pushes my head so close my face is buried in his stinking hair. My mouth is flooded with his goo but he doesn’t let go. I swallow some of it. He pulls himself out after a few minutes. I spit on the floor. My spit is white and thick. I try not to think that I swallowed some of it so I won’t throw up.
I throw up when I think of it. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and turn away from its sight. I look back at the house. Silent. Dark like the sky. My hands clutch the grass tightly. Tears flow down my face. I’m sorry.
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Since Jay died, Pa always came home drunk. He and Ma would fight. I could hear them in their room, shouting. Throwing things. Later they also fought outside their room. In the living room, while eating, while getting ready for bed. Soon Ma stopped sleeping in their room altogether. She’s lay out the mat by the big wooden cupboard beside the kitchen table and sleep there. Pa would coax her back but she wouldn’t budge, totally ignoring him. Once I saw Pa stagger out of their room and he tried to lay beside her. Quickly she got up and ran to their room. I heard the lock clicking. Pa tried to chase her but his drunkenness slowed him down. He pounded on the door until he passed out, crumpling unto the floor.
It’s morning already but it’s still dark. I wake up after another dream of Jay. I hear the screen door opening and closing slowly, gently. I look out the window. I see Ma. She’s carrying something heavy. I get out of bed. I stumble on the way to the door. “Ma?” I get out of the house. “Ma?” I run to her. She turns back. Tells me to go back to the house. Her face is a mask of sadness. “Where are you going?” She tells me to go back in the house again. Her voice has become sharp, her expression stern. She walks toward the road. “Ma!” A car is waiting for her. She boards it. I run. “Ma!” The car speeds off into the silent morning.
I never saw her again.
The wind blows strongly against my broken face. It’s cold. Like Pa’s responses when I asked him where Ma went. Many times he’d just look at me, as if he didn’t know me, saying nothing. When I’d wake up in the middle of the night, I’d see him standing by the door of my room, his figure outlined by the light in the hall.
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