It was the early hours of the morning. It might have been a Saturday. I don’t recall if the
loud pounding against our door had woken me, or if I was already awake. Next thing I knew I was sitting on the couch in the living room and a woman burst in, then began chasing my mothers’ boyfriend around the apartment. It had become an all out screaming match that was inching into a brawl. As much as I try I can’t recall was what being screamed between my mother and this woman while the boyfriend locked himself in the bathroom, but as an adult now I can only imagine the words that were exchanged.
I still remember sobbing, and the feeling of being terrified. The uncertainty of what was going to happen to us and the commotion unfolding was a lot for my six year old brain to process. What happened shortly after that is lost in the fog of my memories, but what I do remember next was the woman. This woman, who I viewed as a monster during this entire traumatic ordeal, approached me with a softness and kindness that I hadn’t expected. This monster was attempting to soothe me and calm me, reassure me that things were okay.
Afterward, the woman left. The coward left. And I was left there with yet another memory of an incident that should have never happened. It was another event in my young life that caused me to grow up too fast…