Everything Is Going To Be Okay

So I wrote a prose for the speech team at SF state this semester, and thought I'd share it here.  Prose usually comes from a piece of literature, cut to eight to ten minutes, and then interpreted by the performer.  I've had this idea for my prose for a while, and one day over summer I just kind of busted it out.  I've added and done some changes since then, but here it is as of now! I'm very excited for this piece :)

Everything Is Going To Be Okay

Lelah Smick AKA Gracie Quinn

The day my parents’ final divorce papers went through was one of the happiest days of my life.  I will admit, it does sound strange saying that out loud.  It’s kind of like an oxymoron.  Divorce, in essence, is the end of two people in love, which sounds like the opposite of happy.  But for me, this meant the end of two people screaming and yelling at each other.  You have no idea how badly I wanted this to happen.

When my sister and I were young, we used to sit in front of the television for hours at a time.  You know, like any other normal children did.  Well, apparently, my dad didn’t like the TV being on so much, and soon grew frustrated.  But he didn’t know how to deal with the situation like a normal human being.  So one day, he went over to the TV set and announced, “You know what I’m getting sick and tired of?” And then proceeded to pick up the TV, carry it outside, and smash it on the concrete.

           My mother followed him outside, “PAUL!  What are you doing?!”

As a child watching this happen before my eyes, I didn’t really know what to think, other than this kind of stuff didn’t happen when I was over at my friends’ houses.  …It was frightening to see my dad like this, and the way my mom responded I could tell she was scared too.  Feeling like there was nothing I could do to control the situation, I ran straight to my bedroom.  I closed the door and lay on my bed, trying to block out the noise. “It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay.”  Because, no one else would tell me that.

I don’t know how many times I ran into my bedroom like that, but it was all those times too many.  I soon began to recognize the beginnings of a fight between my parents, and would run to my room before their verbal volume escalated.

I knew these fights weren’t about me or my sister, and I knew it wasn’t our fault either.  Even with the TV incident, I knew he wasn’t upset with us….  I just wish he would have talked more about what was going on rather than throwing and breaking shit.

I didn’t always know what these fights were about either.  From inside the safety of my bedroom, I’d try to occupy myself with something else, like playing with my Barbies.  I loved dressing them and combing their hair; to me, it was soothing and relaxing, and it made me able to focus on something where I didn’t have to pay attention to what was going on outside my room.  There was one Barbie in particular that I always went straight towards.  Her name was Samantha, because that was my favorite name for a girl, and she reminded me of myself a little, how her hair was and how she looked.  She was always with one of my Ken dolls, Miles; that was the name of the boy who I had the biggest crush on at the time.  He turned out to be a jerk later on, but that’s not the point here.  Samantha and Miles were always happy together.  Always.  Whether they were taking a ride in my Barbie jeep, making food in the kitchen, getting dressed up to go to a party with all their friends, or babysitting little sister Kelly.  At least in the world of those dolls, I could pretend that everything was okay.  I knew that as long as I could make it to my bedroom, I could escape the chaos.

There was one time though, where I wasn’t able to go to my room.  It was late at night, and my sister and I were keeping warm in front of the fireplace, while my dad went over to check out all our skis and boots that were brought into the living room because we were going skiing in the next couple days. I guess one of the bindings wasn’t working and he became a little frustrated.  My dad does not know how to handle frustration like a normal human being.  My mom came over and tried to calm him down.

           “Paul, Paul.  What’s the matter?  Here, we can fix it.”

           Ohhh my dad did not like that.  He grabbed her arm and began swearing at her and calling her names, for, I cannot recall the reason why.

           “Paul.  Let me go.  You’re hurting me!  Let me go!”

Then, right as I looked over, I heard the palm of her free hand press into my dad’s face.  He was sort of set aback for a moment, not expecting that.  Then he slapped her back, twice as hard.

          

And that is when I headed for the hallway toward my room, but that is also when my dad pulled my mom into the hallway before I could get there.  He had her pinned against the wall, so she couldn’t go anywhere.

“Don’t you ever fucking slap me again, you fucking bitch!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, just let me go!!”   

I couldn’t go around, I didn’t want to get so close to him while he was like this.  Their voices rose, I’m sure the neighbors could hear now. My father’s grip became tighter.  It was like watching a couple of five year olds wrestle, but when it’s two grown up adults, let alone your parents, it becomes more scary than you can imagine.  It was hard to see, but my dad held tight to my mom’s left index finger, pulling and twisting it out of shape. I remember her shrieking and crying and pleading for him to let go and leave her alone.  My sister and I stood there watching, not knowing what else to do, amazed that my parents would actually allow this to happen in front of their kids. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. I wanted so badly to escape, but I couldn’t.  I couldn’t take it anymore.

           “For fuck’s sake, let go and stop screaming!! ...Please.”

I hated how after all these fights, they were never mentioned of again.  Especially to us kids.  They never told us what was happening, or why it was happening, or what was going to happen now because of it.  It’s like they didn’t want to confirm that it was real to us.  Well guess what?  It was very real to me, and I just wish someone would have talked to me about it and told me that everything would be okay. …That’s all I really wanted to hear.

So, when my parents announced they were getting a divorce when I was 12-years-old, I could not have been more relieved.  It was like all those times I told myself that it would be okay, was actually coming true.  It’s weird that the happy ending here is my parents not staying together, and it’s sad, but i honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.  Me though?  I want a real happy ending.  So it was at that time I vowed to myself that I would never let any of this happen to myself or to my children.

           Now, eleven years later, I have two things I have promised myself to do.  To find someone that I will be in love with, forever, and to remind my future children, well, they won’t ever forget what I’m always going to tell them.