Through That Wall

The wells of anger still pooled in her eyes and gut, as he spoke to her. 

“Do you know if I did what you just did, my dad would ram my head right through that wall.”

How dare you even speak to me, she screamed in her soul. 

The night had started as most nights, she fed herself dinner. She went to a room to eat, to do her homework, and watch TV. And around 9 PM she went back to the kitchen, put her dish in the sink, turned off most of the lights, except for the one by the front door, she took her cat to her room, went back to her room to settle in for the night. 

Her mom was on a date. A date with Lonnie. She had a real knack for picking losers. Lonnie, the chainsmokers from Missouri. A tow truck repair man with no education and no social skills. Her guess was that she was trying to pick someone as different from her dad as possible. She was sure where they met and did not care much. Probably in the program, but she didn’t care much.

It was late night or early morning when she heard the sounds. She must be home, she thought. Ignore. Go back to sleep. But the sounds had turned into noises. Groans and moans. And now she was awake. Conscious, trying to figure out what those sounds were, and where they were coming from. The moans in the groans were coming from her mother’s room. Sounds of sex. She knew them from TV. The pools of rage began to swell. And as they grew, her breath turned to panting, and her mind raced. How could she do this? 

Will. She. Never. Stop?

Sex in her house with a man that’s not her father. Sex in her house within hearing distance of her 9 year old daughter.

Shameful. Embarrassing. Disrespectful. Disgusting. 

A woman of the church.

So she began to throw things at the wall they shared.

Hangers and books hit the wall but the moans and groans kept coming. 

She left her room, slammed the door and went to the kitchen. 

Controlled chaos. Controlled rage.

She threw one glass in the sink, and as it shattered, a small droplet of anger was released.

And then another. And another. And another. 

And a plate on the floor. Another plate. And another glass. And now she stood there in her rage and sadness at the ready with another plate. 

The doorbell rang. The doorbell. The sound of the doorbell. The shattering glass and porcelain was louder than the sex sounds and the doorbell was louder than the rage.

She opened the door with tears and shame running down her face. It was the police. Lonnie and her mother in robes came to the door. 

“You, go sit on the couch.”

“Yes, ma’am. We received a call of some sort of disturbance going on here.”

“Yes, my daughter is upset. We don’t know why, but she has decided to smash all the dishes in the kitchen.”

“Everything is all right. Yes, we will keep it down.”

“Can we speak with her? “

“Yeah, she’s right there on the couch.”

“I heard them having sex.”

“So, you decided to break the dishes? Well, you need to keep the noise down. Your neighbors called us because you were making too much noise. I see you are upset, but you need to keep it down. Ok? Is there someone you can call?” 

“Sir, ma’am, you need to get this under control. We don’t want to have to come back.”

“Dad, dad, you have to come get me. I can’t live here anymore. I heard Mom and her boyfriend. I heard them having sex. I hate it here. I hate her. She doesn’t know how to be a mother. I feel stuck. I can’t breathe. 

OK. Tomorrow. OK. Call me. OK. I love you too.”

“You sit back down. I don’t even know what to say to you. The wells of anger still pulled in her eyes and got as he spoke to her. You know if I did what you just did, my dad would ram my head right through that wall…”

…I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother; to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me.