After that day with Bandit, my life seemed to be in a haze. Yet as a young child I merely locked that day away in my memory and went about everyday. I was still living and laughing everyday. But that nightmare with Bandit was only the first of many nightmares to come and every single one just got worse and worse.
Imagine a ten and a half year-old girl jumping into a fight between her two grown up parents. I was on the ground trying with all that was within me to pry my father’s arms away from my mom. I had never been so scared that i would lose my mom in my life. At that very moment, I had honestly believed she was going to die. After several tugs to get his arm from around her neck he stopped and looked up at me. I was crying profusely and the word “stop” was coming out of my mouth in several different volumes. I don’t know if seeing me trying to get him to stopped finally dawned on him or if he was suddenly aware of what he was doing but he let go of my mother, got shakily to his feet and sat down in his chair. I looked at my mom who was getting to her feet herself and i saw she was also trying to find her glasses. To help her, i immediately set myself to the task of finding them for her. My father was telling me in slurred words not to but nevertheless i found them and gave them to my mom.
They were sitting on opposite sides of the room and talking and arguing. And then my father began his ridiculous manipulation on my mom. He told me to sit on the couch and i did. My brother came in and went straight to me sitting next to me as if i were his protector. Then my dad told him to come and sit on his lap and for me to sit closer to him all the while manipulating her with words of how we were children and somehow the fight was her fault.
I thought the fighting would end there but i was wrong. I was getting my brother to bed in our room and he had just fallen asleep when the yelling began again. My little brother was sound asleep and he never woke up during their argument but i was awake for every word of it. The cursing and the threats. I was frozen afraid to go back out to the living room or even to go down the hall way to my room. I was afraid i would get yelled at and hurt too. Then door slammed and my mom’s voice was gone. i listened for a few minutes but she wasn’t there. I slowly made my way to the living room where i saw my father sitting on the couch with yet another drink in hand but he was also messing around with his collectors Samari swords. This is not an embellishments. My father had a fascination with the Japanese culture that is why they named me, Mariko. But, i digress.
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