by Jessicah Erondu
I wish this bus would keep going and never stop.
But that wasn’t going to happen. I steeled myself as I got off the bus, crossed the street, and started the long walk up my driveway. The driveway ran the length of our front lawn, which was by far the biggest one on our street. My Dad often told people that he wanted his kids to have the biggest space to play in, and that was why he specifically chose the house with the biggest lawn. I secretly hated it. Anytime we were on that lawn, I’d casually look around and see curtains shifting, heads peeking out of doors, even cars slowing down to watch the only black kids on the street. No matter what, it was like we were always being watched.
As soon as I opened the front door, a wave of noise and smells hit me. Before I even had a chance to process anything, I heard, “Good, you’re home! I need your help in the kitchen. Now!” I sighed.
Fuck.
I dropped my bag and made my way over to the kitchen. The scene that greeted me was utter chaos. Every burner on the stove was occupied with various foods being cooked. The counter was filled with different vegetables and spices, waiting to be chopped. My mom, looking more tired than usual, frantically going back and forth between the two. And, of course, the sink was filled to the brim with pots and pans. Before she even opened her mouth, I knew what she was going to ask. “Nne, please. I have so much to do before I have to go to work. Can you help me out with the cleaning?” I looked over at the living room, where two of my little brothers were playing video games at top volume without a care in the world. “Mom, I know they’ve been back for at least two hours. Why didn’t you ask them to help you?”
She shook her head, “Come on, you know how they are! They don’t know how to do it right. Please, just help me out, and I’ll ask them to do it next time.” I took in her disheveled appearance and pleading eyes, and rather than pointing out the very obvious lie, I made my way over to the sink.
Fuck.
As I slowly worked my way through the dirty dishes, I let my mind wander. There were so many aspects of this house that I hated, but this sink might be the thing I hated the most. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t spend hours at this sink, washing a never-ending pile. The Sisyphean nature of it was enough to drive me insane. The worst part was the way I couldn’t refuse to do it. “No” wasn’t an option in this house.
All of a sudden, I heard a loud, grating sound coming from the garage. I whipped my head to check the time on the oven clock.
5:20.
My dad was back from work.
Fuck.
I quickly rinsed my hands, jumping into action. I had been so preoccupied with my thoughts that I hadn’t realized the house had become eerily quiet. My brothers, probably having heard my dad’s car come up the driveway, had already made their escape to their room. My mom had already gone to work. My sisters were already in our room, having stayed there all day to avoid the chaos of the first floor. It was just me left, out in the open. The door to the garage was opening.
I darted behind the staircase before the door opened fully and waited. My dad’s heavy footsteps echoed throughout the entire house, and I held my breath as I tracked his path, waiting to move. His footsteps made their way into the kitchen I had just been in, walking around and opening the pots of food my mom had cooked. Then they made their way out of the kitchen, coming closer and closer. I couldn’t tell which was louder, his footsteps or my heartbeat.
They stopped.
I let out a silent breath as I heard his office door open and close behind him. The muscles in my body started to relax, and I carefully made my way up the stairs. I hadn’t immediately gone up when he came into the house because our staircase was extremely creaky, and he definitely would have heard me going up while he was outside his office. However, the door usually muffled the creaking noises once he was in his office.
Or so I thought.
Just as I reached the top of the stairs, my foot came down too hard, and an impossibly loud creak filled the air. I froze.
For a split second, the entire house was silent. Maybe he hadn’t notic–
“Who’s that on the stairs?”
Fuck.
I was caught.
I turned around and walked back down the stairs, each step filling me with more and more dread. I got to the bottom of the stairs and opened the door to my Dad’s office.
I usually never came in here if I could avoid it. Nothing about this room was particularly inviting, from the all-encompassing desk that took up most of the room, to the stone-faced man behind it. I stood in front of his desk and waited.
After a long moment, he finally spoke. “Do you know why your teacher called me today?” he asked, his voice was deceptively quiet. I didn’t answer. At times like this, speaking only made it worse. Seconds ticked by. As the silence stretched, the palms of my hands itched and grew moist.
It was coming.
Any second now.
“WHY IS YOUR TEACHER SAYING YOU’RE FAILING YOUR CHEMISTRY CLASS?!”
Flinching, I immediately looked down. As the yelling continued, my eyes were glued to the floor. Embarrassment spread through my body, and shame heated my face, but my eyes stayed on the floor. Even as tears filled them up, hot and unwanted, my eyes stayed trained on the ground.
The yelling went on and on, and the tears eventually made their way down my face and onto the floor. Despite the situation, I couldn’t help regarding the sight in a detached sort of way. I thought nothing in this office was inviting, but that wasn’t exactly true. The paneling on the wood floorboards was very polished, making it easy for my tears to blend in, adding to its luster. It welcomed them like old friends.
Finally, the yelling ended, with my dad demanding that I go to my room as punishment. I fled from that damn office, running up those traitorous stairs, and burst into my room. Or should I say our room. My two sisters, whom I shared it with, mobbed me the second I came in, flinging question after question at me.
“What happened?”
“Did you really fail a class?”
“Are you gonna get left back?”
“I thought you were smart! Why are you failing?”
Up until this point, I had kept my anger and frustration in check, like I always did. But after enduring everything from school, to my mom, to my brothers, to my dad, and now my sisters? I snapped.
“FUCK!”
My sisters recoiled, shocked at my outburst. Even I was taken aback. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud; it just came out. I looked at both of their faces and saw fear reflecting back.
I had put it there.
I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from my eyes. “Look, I’m sorry, I just…need a minute.”
They looked at each other, nodded, and moved out of the way, leaving the path to my bed clear.
At last, I climbed into my bed, the weight of the day slowly melting away. I looked around at my toys and books that I always kept on the bed, even though they made sleeping uncomfortable at times. My family didn’t understand why I insisted on keeping them there, but I was adamant. If nothing else in this house was mine, this bed would be. Deciding I was too tired to read, I got under the covers and lay still, facing the wall so my sisters couldn’t see my tear-stained face.
I lay there for hours, pretending not to hear the worried murmurs from my sisters, the taunts from my brothers, or even the calls from my dad. “She’s sleeping!” my sisters called back. I smiled weakly to myself. Sleep was the only sacred thing in this house. I closed my eyes and prayed that my subconscious would give me the dream I craved the most:
A peaceful home.
Jessicah Erondu is a student at LaGuardia majoring in Creative Writing. In her spare time, she can be found writing fiction, obsessing over television and film, and attempting to learn how to crochet for the fourth time.
Photo: “Untitled” by Teddy Tavan, CC 1.0
