Chapter 6
Life is carrying on normal as it should be, but today I can feel tension in my stomach. I get the feeling that something is wrong or going to go wrong. I feel nauseous. My mommy is at home with Martha today. They normally clean like two crazy ladies. My mommy always says cleanliness is Godliness. I actually believe her. I always sit and think of how beautiful the streets of heaven should be; gold and white. It must be a beautiful combination actually. I love gold. When I am big, I want rings on all my fingers. I want to expose my love for gold, not to show people I am rich or anything like that, but just to show how much I admire the streets of gold I will be walking on one day. I want to wear gold diamond earring that sparkles like the stars at night and a dainty gold chain with a pearl pendant that represents the beautiful glow of the full moon. “Gabby... Gabs... Gabriella!” I shook myself out of my gold dream to answer a question on the board. “I’m sorry Mam; please can you repeat the question?” I asked blushing as red as a tomato. “Do you understand the long division Gabby?” she asked again. “Yes Mam, I do indeed.” I answered politely. Luckily mathematics is one of my strongest subjects. “Please can you complete the one on the board for me.?” she asked. I explained everything step by step as she wrote down exactly what I explained. “And that class is how it should be done. Thank you Gabby, you may sit down now.” I feel so proud of myself for completing the long division sum as she expected me to. She knows I am good in mathematics, but I think she could see that I was day dreaming. Well, the day of school has come to an end and it is time to go home. Abby is so far ahead, I will never catch up to her even if I run. Walking home at my own pace, thinking of my own stupid little things, it struck me again. I feel ill... the nausea is so bad this time, I can feel my stomach turn and everything just wants to come out. I can’t hold it back and let loose in someone’s garden. I am throwing up in the middle of my walk home. What is happening to me? The vomit is pouring out of me. I can’t remember eating this much food or drink anything either. Spewing and spewing... eventually it stops. I picked my book case up to start my long walk home again. It feels like have been walking for hours to get home. I reached the gate and there Abby was, sitting on the stoep crying her eyes out. “What is wrong Abby?” I asked with great concern. “Gabby, daddy is home and they are fighting again.” I rushed inside but before I go look to see what is going on, I have to get rid of this horrible taste in my mouth. After brushing my teeth, I knocked on my mother’s bedroom door. He is screaming at her and she is shouting back. He is calling her a bitch and a slut and all these horrible names. For some reason, she is not keeping quiet today. She screams back at him and accusing him of having an affair. I dare not knock again. I ran out to Abby and just held her. I held her tight to my chest and covered her ears. This is not something we should experience. Her entire body is shaking. She is a bundle of nerves sobbing her heart out wishing that all of this must stop forever. I feel the same way. I don’t see why we should be exposed to violence and abuse. Slap after slap is all I can hear. I cringe knowing that there will be blood and bruises. I feel sick again, the nausea hits me again and I can feel the vomit sit in my throat. This is the last thing I need right now. Abby can’t be worried over me too. Even though we are only two years apart, I feel like her big sister. I am the only one she can really talk to or run to. Abby is a very quiet little girl and for obvious reasons too. The silence in the house is deafening as we walked in. My father’s mouth is touted therefore it is just a meet, greet and run situation. “Good afternoon daddy.” we said as we walked to our room. I want to go to my mommy to make sure that she is okay, but my daddy is standing in hallway, making sure I don’t go near her. What if he hit her so hard that she is unconscious? Maybe she is laying on the floor bleeding to death. The next moment, her bedroom door opens and she comes out slowly. Swollen closed eyes and a bruised lip. What does he get out of this when he beats her up like this? Why does he not hit other men that can take the punch and hit him back? I always look for answers in his black evil eyes, but there are no answers.
“Mommy... uhm, can I help you mommy?” I asked feeling like a dog with its tail between its legs. Fearing that he would hit me too yet chose to ignore the scared feeling, I slipped past him. She is on her way to the loo. She can’t even walk straight. I think this time she definitely has concussion. She is swaying from one wall to the other, trying to keep her balance and walk past the man that just beat her. I can see the fury in his eyes as I help her to the toilet. All I want to do is hit him... I want to man handle him like he does my mother. I want to shout at him and express how disappointed, scared, angry and hurt I feel inside. What is going on? I heard of divorce. Sometimes I think it would be the best just to visit my father. I do not want to be in this vibe and see all this going on. “You are so pathetic, your children have to help you to the toilet.” he yelled. “What kind of a mother are you?” He shouted at her as we pass them. “You slept on dirty washing you dirty bitch.” he screamed it at the top of his voice. “You come from nothing... you deserve nothing... you are nothing!” he shouted as he walked away. He was so angry; I thought he was going to attack her again while I tried to assist her back to her bedroom. I remember not so long ago my mommy telling me that she was pushed from pillar to post when she was small. My grandfather drank too much and was in no state to look after my mother. When she was taken into this particular home, there was no bed for her, no linen and no warm blankets. She made herself a bed on dirty washing. She pushed it all together and bundled it up to try to make it comfortable for her to lay her head on to get some rest before the following sunrise. This is not a wonderful childhood, but to be reminded of those years this way, can only damage one’s self confidence and image. Suné walked into the storm from hell. It is as if she has an on and off switch to control her emotions but I can see the anger in her face. Her mouth is still but she lifts her one eyebrow up. That is the “What is going on?” look. I normally just shake my head and no for her not to ask or point towards the room to go see my mom. Suné is a type of person that loves to dance and party her troubles away. She will come home in a bad mood, turn her music on and just dance until she feels better. It is a very unique way of dealing with her emotions and mood swings. Then you get the days where she really feels blue and under the weather and she then decides to sing all the golden oldies that remind her of the happier times in my parents’ lives. The days where my parents danced and talked freely, and the sound that I love more than a puppy barking is when they laugh together, were the better days. Suné would sing and sing and sing and eventually Abby and I would join her. We would sing until it was time for my father to arrive at home. As soon as my daddy walked through the door, everything changed.