I woke up Saturday
morning to a quiet house. Saturday’s meant cartoons. Super Friends and Speed
Racer and so many others. I didn’t know what time it was, but I was too excited
to go back to sleep. I lay still for a second, listening for any sounds. There
were none, but I didn’t expect to hear anything. As quietly as I could, I crept
to the bedroom door. Gently turning the knob, I open the door, and lightly
close it behind me, making sure to turn the knob closed instead of letting it “klatch”
shut.
Turning left, I
make my way along the hallway toward the bathroom. Hugging the walls, I
quickly, but gingerly make my way along. I’m only eight, but I’ve learned how
to be as quiet as possible. The middle of the hall creaks the boards under the
carpet. Along the walls, with my small
frame, socks, and the carpet, I’m like a whisper in the wind.
I feel like an
Indian stalking deer in the forest. I’ve never hunted before, so I don’t know
what I would do with a deer, I just know that I have to be absolutely quite to
catch one. In my mind, it’s almost like a game, but one with dangerous
consequences.
Once I reach the
confines of the bathroom, I repeat the process of closing the door, gently
twisting the knob so as not to make a sound. I close the door not for privacy,
but for the added sound damping it will provide. Privacy is of no concern in
this house where my step-father is a nudist and often walks around naked and
has my mother do likewise.
I’m less cautious once the door is closed. The toilet seat has a cover that absorbs sound. I
can’t be reckless, but I don’t have to be as deliberate and methodical. Once
the seat is up, I reach into my pajamas and grab my penis – that’s the word Jim
uses when we’re in the bath together – and aim carefully at the side of the
bowl above the waterline. It’s a spot I’ve discovered that creates no splash.
No splash means no sound. Inside the bathroom, I could barely hear it. Anyone
outside the bathroom would have to have their ear pressed against the door, and
even then, my excited breathing might be louder. Again, I think to myself,
“What would an Indian do?” Peeing out in the forest down the side of a tree so
as not to disturb the wildlife.
Billy Jack was an
Indian. We have the same name – Jack – but he was tough and strong. He wouldn’t
be afraid to make a sound, he’d fight the monster and probably win. I saw part
of that movie awhile back, before mom shooed me off to bed. I wish I was more
like Billy Jack. I wish I wasn’t afraid of the monster. I wish monsters weren’t
real.
As my stream
subsides, I’m careful to continue to aim along the bowl, walking it back toward
me as it slows to a trickle. Noise is still the enemy right now. I shake my penis a few times to rid it of the
last few drops and tuck it away, then close the seat back down as if I was
never here. Of course, I can’t flush. The whooshing water and the old pipes in
the house could wake the monster.
I know that
somewhere past half way on the bathroom door it begins to squeak, so I’m
grateful for my thin, eight year old body and how it can easily fit through
with the door less than half open. In the hallway, I retrace my steps, hugging
the walls again. I make my way past my bedroom, stopping outside my mother’s
room briefly listening for any sounds that they were awake.
Surprisingly, when
I reach the family room, it’s dark and empty. It must be earlier than I
thought, but I haven’t quite figured out the big hand and the little hand to
tell the time. When you have a mother and three older siblings always telling
what to do and when, who needs to tell time? I'm anxious about my next steps. If
I turn on the TV and sit close, I can keep the volume down. But if that’s still
too loud, it could wake Jim. And even though I can’t yet tell time, I already
know that commercials are louder than shows and movies.
If nobody else is
up yet, I assume that I’m too early so I decide to error toward caution and not
turn on the TV. But I don’t want to go back to bed. If I fall back asleep in
bed, I could miss cartoons. So, I lay out on the couch, hoping that when one of
my older siblings wakes, they’ll come turn on the TV and wake me up. The other thing I know: older kids always
catch the brunt of the monster’s wrath if we accidentally wake him too early.
Laying there on
the couch, I think about being an Indian again, making my way through the
forest stalking prey. Sleeping outside under the stars. Not being afraid of
things like Billy Jack isn’t. As my mind wanders, I drift off to sleep.
Something wakes
me. I don’t know what. I can’t hear the TV, or anything else. I don’t know how
long I’ve been asleep on the couch, but based on the light in the room, it
couldn’t have been long. Suddenly, I sense that I’m not alone. I look down my
body and panic. The monster has me in his mouth. I don’t know what to do. If he knows I’m
awake, it could get worse. Using all my self control, and all my imagined
Indian skills, I pretend to remain asleep.
I try not react to what’s happening. I try not to feel anything below my
waist.
The feeling of
being watched overwhelms me. I look up and see my mother standing at the end of
the couch, above my head. I can’t quite make out the expression on her
face. Not anger. Not disappointment
either, but maybe something in-between. I think she might say something to Jim,
so I look down. He hasn’t noticed her; he still has me in his mouth.
I expect
fireworks. Rage and shouting in 3… 2… 1. But it doesn’t come.
Confused, I look
above me again, to where my mother used to be. She’s gone. A quick glance
around confirms she’s not in the family room either. I’m alone with the monster
again.
Years and years
later, I would ask my mother about this day.
Did it happen? Was she there? Did she know? She says she wasn’t there,
and didn’t see, and didn’t know until later when a neighbor saw something
between my eldest sister and Jim. At that time, my mother would call the
police.
Two San Jose
officers knocked on the door one night, looking resplendent in their dark blue
uniforms and shiny badges. They came to arrested Jim. Mom ushered us kids into
a bedroom so we wouldn’t have to see. She thought it would have been too
traumatic; I think we would have wanted to cheer.
It’s not a far
stretch to think I was maybe still half asleep that morning. But for me it
seems unlikely. Could you sleep with a monster attacking you? If she wasn’t
there, I think I imagined her there because I wanted her to know. I thought she
*should* know. And I was probably a little disappointed that she didn’t. She
was my mother and she was supposed to protect me from monsters and instead, she
married one and brought him into our house.
