Fleeing Chaos
Finding a Way Out
His parents were screaming at each other. What about? It didn’t really matter. Just hateful barking about something. Guttural snipes cut through the air as they reached their target, but the sound waves expanded and marred the future memories of any innocent bystanders. It was the type of outburst that he and his little sister had heard so many times before. Usually it happened late at night or early morning after his parents made their drunken way back from a Saturday night of barhopping. Slammed doors, thrown objects sometimes accentuated the yelling. Obscenities galore and verbal threats were also part of their mad repertoire. The only escape at night was to cover your head in a pillow, close off your ears, shut your eyes and fall off into a dream or nightmare.
This time, however, it was out in the open, in the light of day. He got his sister and the two of them jumped on their bikes and rode away for a while, trying to stay ahead of the tidal of wave of hate. He led the way. She tried to keep up with him, but quickly fell behind. He didn’t care. He headed towards the big open space of a nearby empty park, where he could ride as fast as he wanted.
He made his way to a big vacant parking lot. It contained a long hill. He rode down it as fast as his legs could pedal, faster, faster down the hill. The echoes of the screaming were still in his head. Tears of anger came down his face. His chest hurt. Faster, faster, he pumped his legs, getting to the edge of being out of control. Gripping the handlebars as tight as possible. A wobble here and a wobble there. He muttered, ‘crash, crash, crash,’ hoping, hoping, gasping for air, closing his eyes, wishing his tires would blow, his bike would break or his balance would tumble. Eyes shut tight. He knew the end of the hill was coming and with it, a curb and a big concrete wall. ‘Crash, crash, crash’ he yelled. He took one big gasp of air. At the last possible moment, he opened his eyes, and he veered to his left and avoided the curb and the wall and the bike slowed naturally. He exhaled. Exhausted.
As he gathered himself, his sister slowly caught up to him. He knew they would have to kill some more time and wait awhile before returning home, hoping the fighting and screaming would be over. When they returned, the house was completely quiet, as if nothing had happened. His mom and dad sat on the couch watching television. Like always, silenced reigned. Nothing was ever said about the incident. No acknowledgment from mom or dad, no apologies. Usually just dead air and tension between the two of them. It was a good time not to make eye contact. He learned never to make eye contact with the crazy people.
As he walked to his bedroom, the feeling of wanting to crash and die eventually vanished. He would catch his breath and felt all the energy drain from his body. He collapsed on his bed.
The rest of the day, he would listen to music or sports on the radio or read - anything to cushion himself from the surrounding vibe. The day dragged on into the night, as it always did. He found out early that life always moved forward. Time always won out, along with all of its land mines and soul killing darts. Whether or not he wanted them, he would keep the memories of that day stored away as files somewhere in his mind and soul for further reflection.