Another: The Class of 1999

Chapter 15 - Out

My mother was a lovely woman to be around. She was kind, caring, compassionate, a friend to all, and very warming. She always had a smile on her beautiful face, and never seemed to have any flaws.

That was, at least, until she lost her nursing job.

Unfortunately, her tastebuds had developed a love for alcohol. Work got stressful, and a glass of something cool took the edge off after a long shift. Dependence grew, and she would drink every night. Then she'd test the waters, see how much she could drink before her shifts without being caught. But someone accidentally picked up her bottle of water instead of theirs, and got a taste of the alcohol inside. She was reported, fired from her job without warning, and angry.

And of course, she had to take her anger out on something... Or someone... And who better than me, her six-year-old daughter?

Since my parents both worked long shifts throughout the day and didn't return home until early evening, I spent a lot of time being babysat by my Aunt Mai. But after my mother got fired and was at home all day, she took care of me instead. It was a Wednesday night when it first began.

A smack around the face and a push into a wall. That's how it began. My mother must have been nursing a hangover, and my rambles and squeals of joy must have been too much. I was hurt and upset, but most of all confused. My small body throbbed due to the pain, and tears pricked my eyes. I didn't understand. Had I done something wrong to upset my mother? All I was trying to do was show her the new kanji I had learnt.

My mother didn't look ashamed or like she regretted her actions. She simply told me I had been in her way as she was trying to walk to the kitchen. A few minutes later, she muttered that parents were allowed to treat their children however they wanted. That evening, she whispered that she hadn't seen me at all, and that it had been an accident. The inconsistencies of the excuses just confused me even more.

So I lived most of my childhood believing that it was okay for my mother to hurt me; I didn't realise that it was wrong. I assumed it happened to lots of other children. The abuse didn't happen everyday religiously, but they were frequent enough to keep me in line, just enough times to keep quiet. Maybe they didn't happen as often as they could have done, because I kept myself quiet and hidden away whenever I heard her come up the stairs or slam the front door shut after returning home.

The physical abuse came every so often, it was the emotional abuse which roamed in our everyday lives. My mother left some chocolate in the fridge, way passed its best before date. It was on the day I decided to take it to school that she had wanted it. When I confessed I'd eaten it, she wasn't impressed, thus giving her the perfect opportunity to be mad and not speak to me for a week.

My mum's questions - "there's the washing power?" "Shall we have curry for dinner?" were, in fact, not questions. They were demands for me to do as she ordered. I learnt to juggle taking care of myself, and housework, and homework, losing my childhood along the way. I didn't know any different. My friends at school were amazed when I told them what I had cooked the previous night. I just assumed they weren't as skilled as I was, not that they arrived home everyday to find a meal already waiting for them, prepared by a loving mother.

When our TV was on the blink, I was able to fiddle the wire behind and get it back to working. My mum praised me and it felt amazing. But the next time it stopped working, my mum demanded I fixed it, but nothing I tried worked, and my mum was angry, and I was so disappointed that I had failed her.

I was walking on egg shells, worried about accidentally making one move wrong. I didn't want to upset my mum anymore than I needed to.

Maybe she enjoyed it. Maybe she wasn't mentally well. All I remember was being scalded with water, or she'd drop her cigarettes and they just so happened to land on my arms. As time went on and my body grew tired and stressed, I'd become quite acquainted with the underneath of my bed.