Routine
Routine
That day was like many others, Sarah knew what to expect but never exactly what it was she was expecting.
Every day began at 7:30 am, that’s when her mum would call her to wake up and to wake up her brothers. The covers would be thrown off, the boys woken up and her uniform put on. Bed made, hair brushed, make up applied, teeth brushed and down stairs for 7:45 am. Cat let outside and cat’s food and water bowls cleaned and refilled, by 7:50 am. By 8:00 am, she had her brother’s lunches placed in their lunchboxes, and the cereals set out on the kitchen table. Routine: she had it down to a fine art. At 8:00 am, she would start making her own lunch.
8:00 am was when her mother made an appearance downstairs. On the best days there would a happy, smiling mummy. On a good day there would be a calm, settled mum. On a bad day, there was simply a mother you wouldn’t want for your own.
Today was a bad day.
It was first heard in her walk, down the stairs she would thunder, already fuming over something. In the kitchen, she would unload the dryer giving out about how much washing she had to do, blaming Sarah the most, being the only girl. Then the causes of her fury would vary.
Today it was at the youngest brother, Charles. He was only five, and had yet to understand why his mum got so angry. Sarah had yet to understand, and she was thirteen.
Today, Charles hadn’t even attempted to make his bed and he had a few dinosaur figures left on the ground. His mother was unimpressed and eager to let him now.
First the menacing hissing about what she’d do to him if he did it again, and then when it didn’t register to the five year old, shouting at him and throwing things across the room. Her back turned, still making her lunch, Sarah clenched her fists and took a deep breath, and then turned to face her ranting mother.
She had to shout at first to be heard, “MUM. MUM. MUM! LOOk sorry, it was my fault. I told Charlie I’d make his bed today and it was me who knocked over the dinosaurs. I’ll clean it now, though, don’t worry.”
“You fuckin’ lyin’ little bitch. I know he did it and I don’t fuckin’ like liars!” came the responding screech.
“No, Mum, I promise. I’ll go do it now.”
“DON’T LIE TO MY FACE. I’ll teach you not to fuckin’ lie to me!” She moved towards Sarah, eyes flashing daggers. Sarah had grown up taking her mother’s beatings.
She was used to them. But today, today something just clicked inside her. She didn’t know where it came from, but she instinctively ducked, flinging her hands in front of her face to protect it.
A kick to the stomach, she crumpled at the corner of the countertop. Her mother bent over her and grabbed her by the hair. “YOU WENT TO FUCKING HIT ME, YOU LITTLE BITCH!”
Still gripping Sarah’s hair as hard as she could, she yanked her up off the ground.
“DON’T. EVER. HIT. ME.” The sounds of Sarah’s head smashing into the wooden countertop punctuated every word.
“DON’T.” Crash one. “EVER.” Crash two. “HIT.” Crash three. “ME.” Crash four.
After the fourth slamming of her daughter’s head, Sarah’s mother let go off her hair and let her daughter fall again to the ground. She turned to her sons, good mood restored. “Right, boys! Get ready for school.”
With a big smile, she reached over her daughter and turned the kettle on. She looked down at her, “You too, Sarah.”
The tears started. Sarah became hysterical, laughing and crying. She didn’t know what to do, how to cope. But her mum just looked at her again and told her she was still going to school.
She climbed into the front passenger seat beside her mother, but she couldn’t get the tears to stop. Her brother’s got dropped off at their school first, and then they drove to Sarah’s school in complete silence except for Sarah’s reluctant sobs, ones she couldn’t hold in.
Her mother looked at her daughters red, tear stained face, as they sat parked outside the school grounds.
She leaned over and sneered into her face “FINE. You can stay at home today, but I’m not doing you a favour. You can be taken into foster care, for all I care. BUT YOU ARE NOT GETTING THE BOYS TAKEN AWAY FROM ME.”
All Sarah could manage was a nod, followed by a sob.
“And stop with the fake crying will you.”
So she stopped, somehow managing to keep her tears unshed, swimming in her eyes.
They pulled up outside their house again. The house keys were tossed at Sarah, when she got out of their car, before her mother sped off again without saying she was leaving.
Very slowly, deliberately, she opened the garden gate and walked up the driveway, not looking anywhere but straight in front of her.
Slowly she opened the door and slowly she closed it again. She walked up the stairs. Looking straight ahead still, she stopped. Tears sat in her eyes, ready to spill.
She stared straight ahead, not blinking them back but willing them not to fall. Her head was spinning, with thoughts of what had happened just then, what had happened so many other times, what could have happened, what would happen again and what would never happen. Thoughts swam from every point, to every other point. She could make sense of nothing and nothing made sense.
She was ready to fall, she was completely drained. This last time had pulled everything from her, from her mind, from her heart. She was nothing, nothing but empty. For all her emptiness, her senses were hypersensitive. The loss of emotion had been like tossing off baggage that was weighing her senses down.
Every creak in the floor boards she heard, each scuffling sound her feet made on the carpet, each deafening beat of her heart.
Her heart; something that meant so little really, something that was so little, but kept her alive. Maybe it should stop. No one would notice, and if they did, it was unlikely they would care.
The door hinges squeaked as she pushed it open, still walking, still praying a tear wouldn’t fall. But she fell, on to a bed in a room, encased in darkness.
Curling up, pull her legs underneath her, she let the tears come. Onto her hair, her pillow, her clothes, her sheets, they spilled. Thoughts darted reckless and careless around her mind still.
Deep, racking breaths in her chest made her shake, violently affecting all her body.
Sobbing, shaking, she couldn’t breathe. Sniffling, she tried sucking the mucus back up her nose, but it only served to clog her throat and constrict her breathing further.
She just lay back and let it happen.
The tears had to end soon, they always did. Hopefully that would be all she had to endure today, but tomorrow’s share would come.
It was just another day in the Renan household.
Every day began at 7:30 am, that’s when her mum would call her to wake up and to wake up her brothers. The covers would be thrown off, the boys woken up and her uniform put on. Bed made, hair brushed, make up applied, teeth brushed and down stairs for 7:45 am. Cat let outside and cat’s food and water bowls cleaned and refilled, by 7:50 am. By 8:00 am, she had her brother’s lunches placed in their lunchboxes, and the cereals set out on the kitchen table. Routine: she had it down to a fine art. At 8:00 am, she would start making her own lunch.
8:00 am was when her mother made an appearance downstairs. On the best days there would a happy, smiling mummy. On a good day there would be a calm, settled mum. On a bad day, there was simply a mother you wouldn’t want for your own.
Today was a bad day.
It was first heard in her walk, down the stairs she would thunder, already fuming over something. In the kitchen, she would unload the dryer giving out about how much washing she had to do, blaming Sarah the most, being the only girl. Then the causes of her fury would vary.
Today it was at the youngest brother, Charles. He was only five, and had yet to understand why his mum got so angry. Sarah had yet to understand, and she was thirteen.
Today, Charles hadn’t even attempted to make his bed and he had a few dinosaur figures left on the ground. His mother was unimpressed and eager to let him now.
First the menacing hissing about what she’d do to him if he did it again, and then when it didn’t register to the five year old, shouting at him and throwing things across the room. Her back turned, still making her lunch, Sarah clenched her fists and took a deep breath, and then turned to face her ranting mother.
She had to shout at first to be heard, “MUM. MUM. MUM! LOOk sorry, it was my fault. I told Charlie I’d make his bed today and it was me who knocked over the dinosaurs. I’ll clean it now, though, don’t worry.”
“You fuckin’ lyin’ little bitch. I know he did it and I don’t fuckin’ like liars!” came the responding screech.
“No, Mum, I promise. I’ll go do it now.”
“DON’T LIE TO MY FACE. I’ll teach you not to fuckin’ lie to me!” She moved towards Sarah, eyes flashing daggers. Sarah had grown up taking her mother’s beatings.
She was used to them. But today, today something just clicked inside her. She didn’t know where it came from, but she instinctively ducked, flinging her hands in front of her face to protect it.
A kick to the stomach, she crumpled at the corner of the countertop. Her mother bent over her and grabbed her by the hair. “YOU WENT TO FUCKING HIT ME, YOU LITTLE BITCH!”
Still gripping Sarah’s hair as hard as she could, she yanked her up off the ground.
“DON’T. EVER. HIT. ME.” The sounds of Sarah’s head smashing into the wooden countertop punctuated every word.
“DON’T.” Crash one. “EVER.” Crash two. “HIT.” Crash three. “ME.” Crash four.
After the fourth slamming of her daughter’s head, Sarah’s mother let go off her hair and let her daughter fall again to the ground. She turned to her sons, good mood restored. “Right, boys! Get ready for school.”
With a big smile, she reached over her daughter and turned the kettle on. She looked down at her, “You too, Sarah.”
The tears started. Sarah became hysterical, laughing and crying. She didn’t know what to do, how to cope. But her mum just looked at her again and told her she was still going to school.
She climbed into the front passenger seat beside her mother, but she couldn’t get the tears to stop. Her brother’s got dropped off at their school first, and then they drove to Sarah’s school in complete silence except for Sarah’s reluctant sobs, ones she couldn’t hold in.
Her mother looked at her daughters red, tear stained face, as they sat parked outside the school grounds.
She leaned over and sneered into her face “FINE. You can stay at home today, but I’m not doing you a favour. You can be taken into foster care, for all I care. BUT YOU ARE NOT GETTING THE BOYS TAKEN AWAY FROM ME.”
All Sarah could manage was a nod, followed by a sob.
“And stop with the fake crying will you.”
So she stopped, somehow managing to keep her tears unshed, swimming in her eyes.
They pulled up outside their house again. The house keys were tossed at Sarah, when she got out of their car, before her mother sped off again without saying she was leaving.
Very slowly, deliberately, she opened the garden gate and walked up the driveway, not looking anywhere but straight in front of her.
Slowly she opened the door and slowly she closed it again. She walked up the stairs. Looking straight ahead still, she stopped. Tears sat in her eyes, ready to spill.
She stared straight ahead, not blinking them back but willing them not to fall. Her head was spinning, with thoughts of what had happened just then, what had happened so many other times, what could have happened, what would happen again and what would never happen. Thoughts swam from every point, to every other point. She could make sense of nothing and nothing made sense.
She was ready to fall, she was completely drained. This last time had pulled everything from her, from her mind, from her heart. She was nothing, nothing but empty. For all her emptiness, her senses were hypersensitive. The loss of emotion had been like tossing off baggage that was weighing her senses down.
Every creak in the floor boards she heard, each scuffling sound her feet made on the carpet, each deafening beat of her heart.
Her heart; something that meant so little really, something that was so little, but kept her alive. Maybe it should stop. No one would notice, and if they did, it was unlikely they would care.
The door hinges squeaked as she pushed it open, still walking, still praying a tear wouldn’t fall. But she fell, on to a bed in a room, encased in darkness.
Curling up, pull her legs underneath her, she let the tears come. Onto her hair, her pillow, her clothes, her sheets, they spilled. Thoughts darted reckless and careless around her mind still.
Deep, racking breaths in her chest made her shake, violently affecting all her body.
Sobbing, shaking, she couldn’t breathe. Sniffling, she tried sucking the mucus back up her nose, but it only served to clog her throat and constrict her breathing further.
She just lay back and let it happen.
The tears had to end soon, they always did. Hopefully that would be all she had to endure today, but tomorrow’s share would come.
It was just another day in the Renan household.