“Come back here you…”, his words slurred as he lunged forward towards my mom. She shrieked and cowered against the wall. He started hitting her and I stood there watching him, doing nothing.
My dad was a drunkard. And there was nothing Mom or I could do about him. Or any of his other habits.
Mom used to work as a cleaning lady in the biggest mansion at Park Avenue, until she was kicked out of the only job which could sustain us. Dad didn’t work. The only job he had was to spend my mother’s money on liquor and then come home and thrash us about.
I was helpless. There were times I felt that I could do something to help mom, so that we could have a decent meal someday. I even tried working at one of those cheap bars lined along the filthy alley where we lived. I was just 14, a blooming girl and I could see what men wanted from me. So I quit my job as a barmaid.
And there was no one to support us.
My mother’s cries brought me back to the present. Dad was shouting names at her and pulling her hair. She was bleeding and I just continued watching. I should have been pulling off my father but I couldn’t. I was much too selfish to let my father hurt me in any way.
He must have grown tired from beating her. He just stopped suddenly and turned around. I ducked down. If he saw me I’d be next. Muttering something he went out of the house.
I stood up and slowly moved towards my mother. The routine was always the same. She was lying on the floor covered with bruises and blood. I helped her up and she cried out in pain. Mom went to the only bed in our house and lay down weeping. I got some hot water and a cloth and started cleaning her wounds. I had become trained in these kind of stuffs.
“It will all be over mom. You’ll never have to suffer again.”, I whispered in my mother’s ears.
She looked up inquiring, not understanding what I said.
“I’m going to do something tomorrow. I can’t stand what he does to you.”, I told her.
“What will you do?”, she asked feebly.
“Oh just make sure he’s dead.”, I said without any emotion. I had learned to control my tears years ago.
My mother gasped.
“Don’t try to stop me mom. I want to end this all.”, I said coldly.
“But he’s your father,” she tried to protest.
“No, he’s not. He never was.”, I spoke.
I had never known what a father was. The feeling of loneliness overwhelmed me whenever I saw other children going out with their family, their fathers holding their hands and guiding them along, picking them up whenever they fell down… it was just a dream for me, an unfulfilled fantasy.
I left my mother to rest and went to a corner of the room and sat down. I could see my mom watching me and I met her eyes. She gave me a long look and turned away. I knew she wouldn’t stop me tomorrow.
As I started planning I could see a distant future, coming closer. A tomorrow where my mother and I would be free from the torments.
I curled up to sleep waiting.
The next day my father didn’t show up in the morning. I waited for him, going over and over about what I was about to do in my mind. Mom was asleep. We hadn’t eaten anything. There was no food in the house.
It was noon already. I took a knife from the small shelf and knelt over to pray. I knew I was sinning but I was also convinced that god would forgive me. I waited in silence, knowing that he’d be coming to touch my mother again.
But this time it would be his last.
Mom opened her eyes. “honey..”, she whispered.
“I’m here mom”, I went over to her.
“is he…?”,she said in a whimpering voice.
“he isn’t here yet.”, I told her.
Mom got up and climbed out of bed. Suddenly we heard a loud curse. It was my father , and he was drunk again.
I positioned myself behind the door.
He entered the room and sneered at my mom.
She had started to tremble and out of fear kept looking at me across my father, as if trying to ask what she was supposed to do.
My father grabbed her hand and took a step forward. And mom just wouldn’t stop looking at me.
I watched in despair and signaled her not to look at me. But she didn’t do so . That was when my father followed her gaze and turned back to stare at me right in the eyes.
And when he saw the knife in my hand he knew.
I had to do something quickly so I raised my hand and started to plunge the knife towards him.
I guess I should have known my father was quick. Too quick, infact. Years of business and drinking in the alleys had made him an expert in these things.
He caught my hand and twisted it around . I cried in pain and he took the knife from me.
“You gonna kill me huh?” , he leered. I could smell his musty breath against my face. He was dangerously close and I was scared. Really really scared…

[ To be Continued..]