The minutes on the clock ticked by and I had no idea what was going to happen. Well…I knew, I just prayed that it wouldn’t. I knew someone would yell, and someone would most likely yell back. I knew someone would cry and I knew I would joke about it to my friends. After all the blame and regret and hate has simmered, only I’d be left. I’d be left with the memory of it all. It had happened once or twice, when someone couldn’t bear it any longer. That someone being the one who should bear it all.

But we all get pushed over the edge sometimes and sometimes we don’t bear it. The times we do bear it however, was when we found the topic stupid to argue about. But then again, sometimes we argue for the sake of arguing. Sometimes we argue to solve something, but in this case, all arguing does is make us hate one another. All arguing does is make us disagree to disagree. You’re either on one side or not on a side at all.

I live in this house, and I breathe in the smells and tension. I hold my breath whenever he walks through the door and exhale when he leaves. My lungs feel constricted and fear once again takes over as I count the hours until he gets back. I’m glad for school, I’m glad for its disguise. I’m glad I have it to hide behind.

I have a sister, and he is killing her bit by bit. Telling her he doesn’t love her like a father should. Telling her he isn’t happy with the past memories they both dread, not share. He isn’t happy, but he never is happy and never will be unless we abide by his rules and regulations and succumb to his beliefs and values.

I have a mother and she is caught between all this. She fights for my sister and at the same time she’s disappointed in her. She sides with my father even when his arguments are damaging and routine. She is on no side, yet we expect to choose. She is the rope in this tug-of-war and no one ever relents.

I have a father and he is old-fashioned. He tells us to talk to him and we do. But only about what we know will not end in a lecture. My sister is strong but only on the outside. He is killing her bit by bit. She tells me stories of our parents’ arguments and I don’t recall any of them. I don’t recall my mother serving my father with divorce papers and my father refusing. I don’t recall my sister coming back home after my father nearly pushed her down the stairs. I don’t recall…I don’t recall…

My sister still laughs and disobeys, she’s oblivious to the force and impact of her words. She is a complaint among herself and never ceases. She is reasonable and likes to negotiate but no one pays her any attention. She is her own, and I am her lackey. I am her friend, sister and confidant.

I will become her. I know I will. I will be her character but with certain aspects changed. I will not study as hard as her because good grades come to me more easily. I will obsess over my words but I will not back down on them. She does not back down, why should I?

I am living in a war zone and my father is the one will the gun. I am naked on the front line and he finds reasons to bring me down. He does not realize that I am already down.

He brings talk of God and theories into my room. My room. He does not think, only does. He does not think about the fact that maybe I don’t believe as much as him, I am not as aggressive in my values as him. He does not see, hear, or think. He only does and that scares me to the very marrow of my bones. He is the fright in my eyes and the wariness in my stride.

I live in this house, and I breathe in the smells and tension. My lungs feel constricted and fear once again takes over as I count the hours until he gets back. I hold my breath whenever he walks through the door and exhale when he leaves. His voice follows me and his silence threatens me. I fixate on certain things that I might have done wrong. I can’t think of anything. His silence looms over me like a great shadow. Possessing me, consuming me.

When I finally ask what is wrong he will act as if it is something of great importance but really, I just forgot to do something. That something always has to do with cleaning. If I did not clean this or that or kiss the floor to check its cleanliness, it means that I will get in trouble. If I did not clean a drop of water off the new kitchen floor, I will be in trouble.

The minutes on the clock ticked by and I had no idea what was going to happen. Well…I knew, I just prayed that it wouldn’t. I knew someone would yell, and someone would most likely yell back. I knew someone would cry and I knew I would joke about it to my friends. After all the blame and regret and hate have simmered, only I’d be left. I’d be left with the memory of it all.