Behind the Headlights

Behind the Headlights
by tammie renea

         Mommy turns on the windshield wipers as specks of drizzle blur her view against the darkness of night. The swoosh- swoosh rhythm of the wipers is a soothing distraction from the uneasy tension in the car .

        Awakened by the sunrise, the day began as a pleasant Sunday morning. Bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes made for a deliciously satisfying breakfast. The weather was mildly warm and pleasant, so the children played outdoors well into the early afternoon.   They were so caught up in their imaginations, they hadn't even noticed the growls of their hungry tummies until Mommy called them in for lunch. Mommy served grilled cheese sandwiches with potato chips and fruit juice. She served Daddy his third mixed-drink of the day. The familiar smell of bourbon fumed the air as the children finished lunch and went outside to continue their play.

         The vinyl seat of the car feels cool as the nighttime temperature drops. The children long for a snuggly blanket, but huddling together helps to ease the chill of their shivering bodies as well as offer comfort to their weary, unsettled souls. Mommy isn't satisfied with her findings as they make their third passing of the house, so they continue to circle the block once more.

         The hours of jumping rope, swinging, hide-n-seek, and tag had passed quickly. They left behind a half-drawn, sidewalk-chalk face when Mommy called them to wash for dinner. Greeted by the smell of frying chicken and bourbon, the children did as they were told, then took their seats at the table. Just before taking her own seat, Mommy poured milk for the children and mixed another drink for Daddy who now looked upon his family with droopy, lazy eyelids. Through slurred words, Daddy said, "Give me the salt." These were sure signs that it would be a long night.

         After dinner, Mommy took the children upstairs to get ready for a bath. The next day was Monday, which meant school. She drew the bath water and helped the children to bathe quickly. By now, the bourbon had taken complete hold of Daddy, and Mommy needed to get back to the task of keeping watch. Once bathed and dressed for bed, Mommy offered some of their favorite coloring books, urged the children to stay in their rooms to play until bedtime, then disappeared down the stairs.   The children seated themselves on the floor, then slowly thumbed through the pages of their books. Once their preferred pages were selected, they sifted through the brightly colored crayons; red, orange, yellow, green.....so many pretty colors. Each of them chose a shade of blue. They colored half-heartedly, not wanting to become too absorbed in their activities. An evening such as this one brought uncertainty. Listening for sounds from downstairs required the air to be still, so most thoughts were kept to themselves. Only careful whispers were used whenever necessary.

         As they creep slowly past their house again, Mommy cranes her neck toward the passenger-side car window, checks her watch, and wonders if the bourbon has finally drawn Daddy into that deep, dark valley of intoxicated sleep. A child's small voice is heard from the back seat asking, "Mommy, do we have to go back? Can't we just go someplace else?" In the rear-view mirror, the child sees the reflection of her mother's teary eyes glistening in the light of the oncoming headlights.   "No," she answers, "It'll be fine. He'll be asleep. It'll be fine."

         Their coloring continued until the stillness was shattered by voices drifting up from downstairs. The children released their crayons as the awaited moment had arrived. With hearts pounding, they carefully made their way to the top of the staircase, propping themselves on the top step like tiny soldiers standing guard. They remained quiet in the shadows, waiting.... waiting....waiting. The waiting was so intense, it felt as if they were suspended in time. Afraid to even breathe, they sat helplessly listening and wishing for it all to end. They trembled as the earthquake beneath them grew ever stronger. The sound of breaking glass eventually prompted one of them from the cover of darkness. The child ran down the stairs screaming, "Stop! Please, stop! Don't hurt Mommy!" The risk of coming between her mother and her father's rage could have resulted in a heavy price, but to her, there was no other choice. Frantically swiping her purse and keys from the table, the panicked mother urged her children to flee for the car.

         After circling the block countless times, they return home and cautiously enter through the unlocked door. Only the sound of the TV is heard. They carefully walk around shards of broken glass, which litter the kitchen floor and counters. A worn mother makes her way up the stairs to check the conditions. Finally, she returns and silently leads the children to their beds. They are exhausted. Comforted by the fact that Daddy seldom wakes from the depths of drunken sleep, they allow themselves to close their eyes.

         Before there is time for a single dream to take form, they are awakened for school. It is difficult to rise, but they must not be late. Sluggishly, they dress and go downstairs for breakfast. Daddy sits at the table reading the newspaper. There are no signs of an earthquake, not a sliver of broken glass remains. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe it was just a bad dream. Teeth and hair are brushed, lunches are packed, jackets are buttoned, shoes are tied, and the children are sent to board the big, yellow bus. Noticing the rain- smudged, incomplete face on the driveway, one of them picks up the dampened piece of blue chalk and adds a crooked frown.

         Weary, somber-faced children gaze out the school bus window as they circle the block to pick up the rest of their schoolmates. This route is as familiar to them in the moonlight as it is in the daylight. While they were escaping the rage of someone they love, had these other children been dreaming of magical fairies, puffy clouds, and amusement parks....or were they huddled behind the headlights that gleamed in Mommy's eyes?