Not Divorced, Not Yet

It scares me when you fight, Mom and Dad.
It scares me when you spit words at each other, when you bang things against counters, when you stomp off.
Off and away from each other.
And by default…off and away from me.

My little sister retreats into an imaginary world when you fight.
She can stand there, babbling into space, and see the happiness that isn’t really there.
Me?
All I can do is bite down on my lip
Dig my fingernails into my palms
And wait for it to end.
All I can do is pound letters on my keyboard
And write a testimonial you’ll never read.
A testimonial that I hope is never echoed by my children.

They say
That it’s never a kid’s fault
When parents divorce.
Obviously they
Never hid in an overlook
And heard their name being bandied back and forth.
Their problems,
Their issues,
Their faults,
Swirling together in a huge firestorm
That’s batted back and forth by their parents.
Neither wants it hanging over their heads

That night you and Dad went to see a movie, Mom
You came in so happy.
Glowing.
Talking about how you got coffee afterwards,
How nice it was.
That time you took me and my sister to the pie place, Dad.
You saved half your pie for Mom,
Just because you knew it was her favorite,
And smiled as you watched her eat it.

I smiled too.
I hoped.
I dared to hope
That maybe we were done with the cycle of
Fight
Storm away
Aftershock
Hurt.

We weren’t.
He wasn't.
She wasn’t.
The next day
All hell broke loose.
Over money, this time.
Money…and me.
Specifically
How much I cost you
And how much of it
I was worth.

Then, the silence came.
The shouts faded
Ringing
Into memory.
You coexisted in stormy silence
Together.

It’s the calm after this storm
And the calm before the next.
Because you aren’t divorced, not yet.