Authors: W. H. Vega
Nadia
The Cold of Winter
Winter falls
heavily upon our troubled home. With each passing day, we lose a little more
daylight, a little more freedom from the suffocating tension that’s simmering
within our little row house. The first symptoms of cabin fever start to make
themselves known as the six of us are forced to spend more and more time indoors.
Chicago winters
are not for the faint of heart, and even though we’ve been through our fair
share, braving the outside world is a chore to be undertaken.
For the first
few months of my stay with the Daniels, us foster kids had all but free reign.
Paul and Nancy were vaguely threatening, but not in the present tense. Sure,
they raised their drunken voices and hollered about noise and mess, but things
never really escalated from there.
Paul’s advances
on Conway and subsequent beating of Garrick set a whole new precedent for
relations inside the home. Since that night, we’ve been on high alert for more
chaos, more violence. And though no one’s gotten hurt in the last few weeks,
the mood in the house has shifted for the worse.
As temperamental
as our foster parents have always been, they’ve always shown something of a
united front. Paul and Nancy have their routines, just like anyone else. They
get home from work, sink down in front of the TV together, drink themselves
into oblivion, and repeat. But ever since Paul went after Conway, their
resigned bond has started to crack.
Fights erupt
between them at the slightest provocation. More than once, a glass bottle has
gone sailing across the room, missing one or the other’s skull by mere inches.
I wouldn’t be too broken up if Paul or Nancy got a nice concussion, but there’s
the bigger picture to consider.
The sun is
setting through the smudged windows of the bedroom I share with Conway when
another fight breaks out downstairs. My foster sister looks up nervously from
her magazine, pricking up her ears to take in the details. I close my science
textbook as quietly as I can and hold my breath as some piece of furniture
topples over on the ground floor. Nancy’s voice is agitated and hurt as she
rails at Paul, almost incoherently. But even with her slurring, a few phrases
come through loud and clear.
“They’re gonna
snitch on us,” she moans, “After what you did to that boy’s face, it’s only a
matter of time.”
“You see any
cops knocking down our door?” Paul shoots back, “I’m not a goddamn idiot. I
know how to keep them kids in line.”
“Used to, sure,”
Nancy says, “But you’re losing it, bud. We’ve had this system all worked out
for years. Throw the little brats some table scraps, collect all the perks.
Never had a problem before. Not until you started getting distracted by a
couple of tight, young asses...”
Conway and I
trade nervous glances, knowing that Nancy is talking about us.
“Don’t know what
you’re talking about,” Paul grunts downstairs.
“Bullshit!”
Nancy screams, “You think I’m blind or something? You think I don’t see you
checking those girls out whenever you get the chance? You don’t just peek,
neither. You...leer. You ogle. You’re a dirty old man getting his dick hard to
jail bait.”
“Haven’t done
nothing wrong,” Paul growls, “Haven’t touched either one of them. Can’t pin
nothing on me, you crazy old bat.”
“And how long’s
that gonna last?” Nancy demands, “How long before you let those hands of yours
wander where they please and ruin everything for us?”
“You think I’m
some kind of monster, huh?”
“You’re damn
right I do.”
“Like you’re
some kind of fucking saint,” Paul spits, “Staggering around here, drunk off
your ass, couldn’t fry and egg if you had an instruction manual.”
“You saying I
don’t know how to keep a home?” Nancy presses.
“Fucking right!”
Paul cackles, “If I’d known how shitty of a wife you’d turn out to be, I would
have just left you to be a single teen mom, guilt be damned.”
“You don’t mean
that,” Nancy says quietly.
“Fuck if I
don’t,” Paul shoots back, “Only reason I married you was ‘cause you forced me
into it. For the baby’s sake. And then, and then, you go and have a goddamn
miscarriage as soon as the ink on the marriage license is dry? Knowing full
well I couldn’t afford to divorce your ass, of course. You tell me that I’m the
monster, that I’m gonna ruin everything, well...guess what. You ruined
everything a long time ago. When you wouldn’t get that half-alive lump of
tissue suctioned out of your gut like I told you—”
A heartrending
screech tears through the halls as all hell breaks loose down below. Glass
shatters, blows land, the whole place trembles on its foundation. Conway and I
abandon our posts and race down the rickety steps. As we swing out into the
foyer, we see the basement door fly open.
Garrick and
Trace launch themselves at the battle that’s raging between our foster parents.
Trace puts himself between the warring couple as Garrick seizes a thrashing
Nancy in his strong arms. Paul retreats to a corner of the kitchen, a harsh red
handprint burning on his cheek. Nancy looks positively mad, her limp hair
askew, her eyes flashing.
“Let go of me!”
she screams, flailing viciously against Garrick’s solid form.
“Just calm
down,” Garrick says, tightening his hold.
“Don’t you tell
me to call down! This man is a demon. A perverted fucking demon from hell. I’m
gonna kill him. You let me—”
“Shut up,
Nancy,” Trace says, keeping his voice low and even, “Let’s just cool down—”
Nancy’s growls
give way to sobs as we all look on, aghast. She crumples to the floor, her
anguished tears streaking cheap mascara all over her lined face. We stand,
silent and horrified by her sudden show of emotion. My heart strains at its
sensitive casing. Even after all the heartache I’ve been through myself, I’m
still way to empathetic for my own good. I can’t just stand here and let this
woman cry herself to sleep on the kitchen floor, no matter how vile she might
find me. I take a tentative step forward, seeking to comfort Nancy.
“Get back,”
Trace warns, his eyes fixed on our foster mother’s flushed face.
I ignore him and
inch closer as Nancy’s wails echo around the tiled kitchen.
“Just let me...”
I mutter, kneeling beside the trembling woman on the floor. Ever so slowly, I
reach out to her, my fingers shaking with sympathetic despair. My fingertips
brush a stray lock of hair away from her ruined face as I force a smile onto my
lips. “It’s OK, Nancy,” I say softly, “We’re here for you. We’re—”
My condolences
are cut short as Nancy’s fist collides with my jaw. I topple over backwards,
bright spots of light erupting in my field of vision. My head hits the linoleum
hard, and I feel Nancy scramble on top of me. Her claw-like fingers dig into
the skin of my shoulders as she wrenches me up from the floor an inch and slams
me back down. The corners of the world are starting to grow fuzzy, and I can
see is my foster mother’s furious face. The pure, unadulterated hatred boiling
in her eyes hurts far more than any physical blow ever could.
“You dirty
little slut!” she screams, her spittle raining down on my face.
“I’m not...” I
whisper, my head spinning.
The plain white
ceiling fills my world as Nancy’s body is wrenched away from mine. I draw in
deep breaths, trying to keep myself from bawling. My eyes dart to the side, and
I see that Garrick and Trace have captured Nancy between them. They’re trying
like hell to restrain her without resorting to more violence, but I can
practically see the temptation tugging at Trace.
“How dare you?”
Trace shouts in Nancy’s face, “I’d expect that kind of thing from Paul, but
you? I knew you were a lousy drunk, but I never knew you were so fucking cold.”
“It’s their
fault!” Nancy screams, casting venomous glares at Conway and I, “They’ve got
him all bewitched or something. Running around here in their slutty fucking
clothes, acting like the whores they are.”
“That’s not
true,” Conway says, helping me to sitting, “We’re just trying to mind our own
business, OK? For Christ’s sake, you’ve known me since I was—”
“Shut the hell
up!” Nancy moans, “I don’t believe a word out of that painted little mouth of
yours. You’re trying to drive me fucking crazy, turning my husband into an
animal...”
“Oh please,”
Conway shoots back, “He’s been a pig since I’ve known him.”
“Watch your
mouth,” Paul says from across the room. I look up at my foster father, who’s
been silent this whole time. My heart sinks a foot as I see the wicked grin
plastered on his face. Is he actually enjoying this?
“I just call
them like I see them,” Conway says, brushing my hair out of my face.
“If I let you
go,” Trace says to Nancy, “Are you going to behave yourself?”
The woman stares
up into Trace’s gorgeous green eyes, takes a deep breath, and spits in his
face. A wave of nausea strikes me as her vile saliva splashes wetly against
Trace’s skin. His body freezes with barely restrained rage, and for a moment
I’m worried that he might finally strike her. But instead, he wipes the spit
away and stoops down so that his eyes are level with hers.
“If you ever
hurt Nadia again, or Conway,” he says slowly, “I’m not going to hold myself
back. I will come at you hard and fast, and I won’t be gentle about it.”
“You’re
bluffing,” Nancy says.
“You want to
test me?” Trace asks.
“Why don’t you
get a hold of yourself, bitch?” Paul says from his corner, “You look like a
mess, all hot and bothered. God knows you’ve never been beautiful, but this is
a new low in the looks department.”
“You son of a
bitch,” Nancy moans, “You’ve destroyed my life, you know that? Look at this.
Look at us. We’re disgusting, you and me. Living in filth, drinking ourselves
to death. It’s all that’s left to us. And it’s all your fault.”
“Don’t talk so
sweet to me,” Paul sneers, “I don’t know if I can take it.”
“Why are you so
cruel?” Nancy asks, her eyes imploring.
“Because I can
be, bitch,” Paul says, stalking across the kitchen to Nancy.
Garrick and
Trace step away from her, join me and Conway across the kitchen. Paul advances
on his wife, catching her wrists in his grizzled, powerful hands. For a moment,
they stand locked like that together, stuck in an endless power struggle that
can only leave them both demolished.
“I wish I’d
never laid eyes on you,” Nancy mutters finally.
“That makes two
of us,” Paul replies, tightening his grip painfully.
“I can’t live
like this anymore,” Nancy says, wincing, “I can’t.”
“You don’t have
a choice,” Paul tells her.
“The hell I
don’t,” she says, wrenching her hands away. She turns away from Paul, swaying
drunkenly.
“What the hell
are you doing?” Paul asks, and Nancy heads for the stairs.
“What I shoulda
done a long time ago,” Nancy says, “Getting the hell out.”
“Yeah right,”
Paul says, “Where you gonna go?”
“Anywhere,”
Nancy tells him, “My sister’s.”
“You hate your
sister.”
“Yeah, well, I
hate you more,” she spits, climbing the stairs.
Paul clenches
his teeth together as his wife disappears from view. He turns toward the
fridge, wrenching open the door and filling his arms with beer. The four of us
kids back slowly out of the kitchen, stealing away into the basement as quickly
as we can.
We assemble
silently, sitting together amongst the bean bags and blankets. I crawl into
Trace’s lap, burying my face into his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me,
rocking me slowly back and forth. I want to weep, want to let out all the
confusion and pain and bitterness before I drown in it, but I can’t muster up
the energy.
It’s well past
midnight, and I have the feeling that this is just the beginning of a very long
night. Garrick and Conway clutch hands as we all wait for whatever it is that’s
going to happen next.
A heavy thudding
begins to ring through the house. Nancy must be lugging a suitcase down the
stairs. The TV drones on, filling the space with a dull buzz and occasional
bouts of laughter. Nancy’s march is slow but determined. There are no footsteps
to counter hers.
Doubtless, Paul
is planted in front of the tube as ever, flatly ignoring his long suffering
wife. There are no goodbyes, no pleas from either party, just the same old
sounds as ever. We listen as the front door opens and closes, ushering Nancy
out into the cold night.
A few minutes
pass before a cab stops at the curb and honks its intrusive horn. We hear the
car steal off into the night, and know that Nancy has made good on her promise.
For a long time,
we stay where we are. Like a litter of abandoned kittens, we huddle together
for warmth and comfort. Even Garrick, who’s usually far too tough for this sort
of things, leans into Conway’s tiny frame. Little by little, we curl up into a
tangle of exhausted limbs and heavy hearts. And though there’s reassurance and
love here, a heavier, more frightening truth chills us all to the core.