Skip to content

Broken

IMGP0744

 

2010

Duffle bags, carryalls and backpacks lay strewn on the basement floor packed and ready for our trip to the Oregon coast. A refrigerator for cold drinks, a microwave and full closet were extra amenities that made this area homey and self-contained. Bed sheets were crisp and perfectly made complete with hospital corners. A fragrant bouquet infused with tones of unknown annuals drifted through the room from hanging baskets just outside our door. Trips back from Saudi were spent here, up the mile long dirt road that wound and curved all the way to the house on the hill.  Since our move back we spent many weekends and holidays in this very room, laughing and feeling the guarded freedom that we now enjoyed.  This house held more than comfort and memories, it reminded me of the person that I had once been.

Sweaty fingers grasped the phone, holding the receiver, pushing buttons and finally disconnecting it from the wall. His words were clear, “You are a liar, a thief” and now it seemed as if his rages had permeated even this safe place and had leaked over to my mother and father. I heard my dad’s voice loud and bold “DO NOT CALL AGAIN” and then the phone was disconnected. I scurried around pushing bags, picking up clothing, pacing past each child, counting heads. It was 1 a.m., I surveyed the darkened room and stood ready, on alert thinking of a plan to pack and head back home. The urge to flee was muted by my mother’s calm yet firm reminders that we needed to get sleep and the vacation would go on as scheduled.

She paced back and forth on the grass just outside the slider, a pensive look could be seen on her face as she fiddled with a shirt sleeve. I surveyed the room, plastic buckets and shovels, treats stacked neatly on the dream bed mom had fashioned for me and the youngest children. I stood frozen staring at the childlike figure that walked back and forth through the early spring foliage. She held the grace and fury of a woman on a mission and she would not be dissuaded by fear and rancor.

Numerous voicemails containing threats and warnings instructed us to leave my parents’ home and return to the little apartment. He cautioned that he would be coming to take his children away if they went anywhere without his express permission. We were not allowed to have a vacation and no one would enjoy the company of his children if he was not along.  I held the phone listening to each word repeatedly until her soft slender hands touched mine and removed it from my shaking fingers.

She shut the door and waited for the next call, walking past the window through the trees and bushes. An hour passed and her exasperated and shaken expression turned to sadness. The usual shame and guilt took hold realizing that my daughter now had to manage crazy that had no limits. I collected myself and lightly moved beside her as she listened to his raging voice, “YES I want your mother dead so I can take my children back to Saudi, yes dead!”

Her eyes welled up with tears, but numbness and strength coursed through my brain. It was finally spoken, heard and real and meant that maybe I was not the unbalanced and spoiled woman he had been “burdened” with.

_DSC0143

Summer 2017

homes on the palouse

I am here to serve you with all of your real estate needs

lynz real cooking

Author blogger mom of nine

Fly 'n Things

A random flight through some of my extraordinary flying adventures

Merry Motherhood

Musings of a first-time mommy

Live Out Crazy

Shreya Jindal

Life of Hayley

Making the most of my twenties

Fictionista

Flash Fiction / Musings Of Darnell Cureton

Sorryless

Keeping it real, one drink at a time

for a rainy day

Photography & Lifestyle.

Loveyashian

Love in the air...you feel that!😍

Beth Warstadt

It is no small thing to offer respite to a weary soul.

Luna

Every now and then my head is racing with thoughts so I put pen to paper

Bernadine’s Corner

Recipes * Lifestyle

M.B. HENRY

Following the Path to the Past

KaylaAnn

Write, Drink Tea, Live Life, Repeat

Popsicle Society

It's all about you

CoffeeMamma

Just a Mom that loves her family, coffee & blog.

Stephen Page

Author: The Timbre of Sand, Still Dandelions, A Ranch Bordering the Salty River. Alum: Palomar College, Columbia University, Bennington College. Follow on twitter @SmpageSteve on Instagram @smpagemoria on Facebook @steven.page.1481

Horses Dirt and Motherhood

Vicki Reinke: Mom, Grandma, Farmer, Author

The Moral Traveller

Morality | Love | Travels

The Solivagant Writer

The world is my playground; the pen, my friend

No Plate Like Home

Easy, family recipes for the home cook!

A non artist

Just a girl with some blogs

What do you mean ?

“Every human life contains a potential. It that potential is not fulfilled, that life was wasted.” ― C.G. Jung

Ramblings of a Writer

Living the Path of Life

%d bloggers like this: