That sound. That fucking sound. I think it’s what I hate the most. I smash the pillow against my head, trying to muffle the yelling going on outside our room, but it’s no use. The sound of my mother’s sobbing seeps through the fibers of the cotton, finding its way to my ears, forever embedding itself into the very grain of my existence.
If this is love, it can stay the fuck away. I want nothing to do with it.
The sobbing turns back into yelling and I prepare for yet another round of ‘How could you…’ My mother’s go-to question during these spats.
It’s always the same. Things never change.
They fight. Dad threatens to leave. Mom begs him to stay. He verbally degrades her. She yells, and then he finally leaves, only to return a couple of weeks later right into the open and waiting arms of my mother.
I shake my head, unable to understand why anyone would put themselves through this hell over and over again.
But this is their routine. This is normal.
The front door slams shut, the deafening sound echoing in our small one-bedroom home, signaling the end of another fight.
My father has left—again.
The yelling has stopped but the sound I hate keeps looping in my ears, over and over. I hear Mother open and shut the bathroom door, no doubt trying to keep us from hearing her cry. Too late.
Unable to stand it any longer, I get up from my bunk and make my way to the door. I’m about to step out of the bedroom when my sister whispers, “Don’t, Cassie. Leave her.”
“I can’t just leave her out there, Aria.” I open and shut the door behind me before she has the chance to say anything else.
Slowly making my way down the tiny hall, I hear my mother’s muffled sobs become louder. My heart physically hurts at the sound of such a strong woman breaking down for a man who isn’t worth it.
I’m standing outside the bathroom door, hesitating, wondering if my sister was right when it flings open.
“Dios mio!” Mother exclaims. “What are you doing out of bed?”
Her usually calm and joyous face is now red and splotchy, her eyes bloodshot and swollen. “Mama.” My voice cracks, unable to hide the hurt. “Why do you put up with him? We don’t need him.”
“He’s your father, Cassandra. Don’t say things like that.” Mother wraps an arm around my shoulder and guides me back to the tiny room I share with two of my sisters. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”
We tiptoe our way down the hall and across the tiny bedroom, trying to make as little noise as possible, but it’s pointless. Everyone is up.
Aria speaks as soon as we reach my bed, “Mama, why do you let him do this to you? He isn’t worth it.”
My thoughts exactly.
“One day, mija, when you fall in love you’ll understand,” our mother coos, trying to temper my sister’s anger.
I scoff. My body unable to hold back its response to that ridiculous answer.
“And since you’re up, I need to tell you something.” Our mother begins to pace between the two sets of bunks we share. “Your father is going away for a little while and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
I roll my eyes. Here we go again. I could practically recite this speech in my sleep.
“But just because he isn’t here, it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love you. You girls are his pride and joy. He’ll be back for you, I know it…” Her voice trails off as if she isn’t really sure if that’s true anymore.
It is. Not the part about him loving us, but the part about him coming back. When his money runs out, he’ll be back.
Money.
My stomach grumbles at the thought, reminding me I didn’t eat much for dinner. Rice and beans. It’s always rice and beans. We eat it so much I think I’m going to turn into rice and beans.
“Tienes hambre, Cassandra? If you’re hungry, I can fix you something to eat,” Mom whispers from across the room.
“No, I’m okay,” I lie, knowing it’ll be another damn plate of rice and beans. Besides, with Dad gone, we’ll have to ration what little food we do have. Money is always tight, but when he disappears, so does our money. Mom has never confirmed this but I suspect he clears us out every time he takes one of his trips.
“I’m getting a job.” My words hang in the darkness of the room before they register.
“Cassandra Maria Martinez, you are not getting a job,” my mother rushes out. “You’re only fifteen. All you should be worried about is school.”
“That’s not what I’ll be worrying about when the power gets cut or you’re working your third shift in one day just to make sure we make rent.” I fling the pillow I’ve been clutching at Aria. “And you should get one too, instead of spending all your time with Jacob. You’re just going to get yourself knocked up like Carmen, and if that happens then you can wave bye-bye to your dreams of going to college.”
“If I’m getting one, then so is Ceci.” Aria tosses the pillow up to our sister’s bunk. “Stop acting like you don’t hear us. There’s no way you’re still sleeping.”
We get nothing but silence in response. Well shit. Is Ceci even here?
As if coming to the same conclusion, my mother bolts to the top bunk and pulls back the covers. Yup. Ceci isn’t even here. Instead, we have a bunch of blankets rolled up in the shape of a body.
At least she missed out on today’s theatrics. Unfortunately for her, our mother doesn’t share the same sentiment. She releases a string of curse words in Spanish before lowering herself onto my bed. “That girl is worse than Carmen. At least Carmen waited until she was eighteen to sneak around. Do either of you know where she is?”
“Of course not,” Aria blurts out. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have thrown the pillow up at her.”
“And you?” Mom turns her head toward me, raising a brow in suspicion.
“Nope.” I shake my head and suck in my lips. I don’t know for sure but even if I did, I wouldn’t say. I’m no snitch. Taking the distraction for what it is, a blessing, I quickly change the subject. Maybe this will keep Mom off my back about the job.
Letting out a yawn, I make a show of being tired. “I’m going to bed. Hopefully Ceci doesn’t need bailing out tonight.”
“Cassandra!” Mother gasps. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Fine, fine. I hope she doesn’t get pregnant.” I snicker as my mother makes the sign of the cross before kissing her thumb, no doubt sending up a silent prayer.
Prayer. They need a whole lot more than prayer.
The one good thing about being the youngest of five is the fact that I’ve learned from all of their mistakes, and believe me, there have been many.
A chill creeps up on me, making my teeth chatter. Rolling over on my side, I bring the warm covers up to my chin and vow to never fall into the trap of love. It makes you stupid and weak—a damn fool—and I’m nobody’s fool.
