SHOW HER!
I stared at the pink post-it stuck to the dusty brown envelope for a long time. Like an out of body experience, I drifted back to a reckless decision I'd made on the spur as a preteen.
I was impressionable then and saw only the good in people. I didn't believe in monsters or in the kind of evil Freida spoke about.
Freida was my opposite. My sister. Strong, beautiful but her smiles faded quickly, replaced by a hard, cynical gaze. She was always angry.
“Everyone has some evil in them,” she often sang like a nursery rhyme and I didn't listen.
She was more like our Dada, defiant, and my gentle Mama stopped trying to mold her into what she called a lady.
The night that altered our lives arrived cool and unsuspecting. Then Dada's voice rose, angry and cutting over my mother's soft pleas. They were arguing again but this time, Freida joined in.
I sprinted downstairs and slid across the marble floor into the kitchen, the way I always did when I was playing. A loud crack pierced the air, followed by a foreboding silence. Dada had hit Freida for the first time.
She ran out through the back door and I chased after her. I could hear Mama crying and begging her girls to come back.
Right through the forest on that dark, starless night, I chased after my sister, calling her name as tears soaked the front of my frock.
Freida stopped at the cliff's edge. My chest heaved as I faced her. The roar of the sea below was wild and deafening. The wind tugged at my dress. I didn't care.
Speechless, I hoped my eyes spoke for me. Don’t leave me, Freida.
I had lived in a bubble, tucked safe under Mama's care as the youngest, unaware that Freida bore the weight of holding our family together.
Her angry gaze softened at that moment. She pulled a brown envelope out of her bag and flung it at my feet. I glanced down for an instant, looked up and she was gone.
The post-it got my attention. I opened the envelope and froze. The pictures inside broke me and I understood Freida's rage and recalcitrance. I ran home that night and hid the envelope.
Unlike Freida, I wasn't strong. Either I expose the pictures and lose my home or stay silent and pretend all was well between my parents. The latter felt safer.
A year later, I held Mama's hand in the hospital as the police cuffed Dada and took him away. It was too late.
Mama groaned through her pain but still smiled at me. She lasted a year before her wounds took her. I was all alone.
Freida and I had failed Mama.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "show her".
Thank you for visiting my blog.
Image credit: Alex_Bon
