Little Shots of Madness: Twenty Three
You can hear the heavy rain hammering away at the metal exterior of the car as we speed down the highway. The droplets forming a constantly changing mishmash of long streaks along the window I stare out of.
Despite the howling winds, the roaring of the engine, the chaos of the storm, my parents screaming at each other in the front seats; I am still. All I can do is stare out the window. Out into the dark nothingness.
I keep staring out. Further and further. It feels good. Like it is sucking me towards it. Taking me. Far away from this.
I know deep down that when this is over, one or both of them will take out their anger on me in some equally explosive way. Anything short of perfect adherence to the rules, rules that they make up on the spot and forget or change given enough time.
I know this because this is what has happened countless times.
I push the thought down. Stuff it into a box. Hold onto the box as tightly as my little hands can possibly hold. I ignore the intense fear that must definitely live in my throat because it threatens to choke me whenever it comes up.
Their collective intensity is still pointed at each other. Soon. It will be my turn. Maybe not tonight. This is the worst part. The waiting. Sometimes it is better if they just hit me and get it over with.
The drawn out anticipation of the inevitable carves itself deeper into me every time. Stays with me longer afterwards, too.
I can enjoy the stillness. The inherent rhythm of the pattering of the rain on the window my face is pressed against. The feeling of the cold glass against my skin.
I can enjoy being invisible.