Chapter 15

15

The little girl sat on floor while her mother braided her hair. "When I was little, I had hair like this," her mother said. "My mom used to braid my hair into a fishtail, but I never learned how to do that kind of braid."

The girl liked hearing stories about when her mother was young, but it was a rare occurrence. Her mother's parents were dead, and it made her sad to talk about them, so when they were mentioned, the girl savored every word.

The girl was just about to ask what a fishtail braid was when her mother suddenly gave a soft groan. "What's wrong?" the girl asked, twisting around. Her mother stood and swayed. A bright red stain bloomed between her legs and blood oozed down her thighs.

"It's the baby," her mother murmured as she staggered to the bathroom.

"Is she coming?" the girl asked because she was sure the baby was going to be a girl.

"It's too soon," her mother cried as she peeled off her shorts and then shut the bathroom door.

The girl stood on the other side of the closed door and listened as her mother moaned and cried out. She was so loud. Too loud. The girl looked anxiously to the door at the top of the steps and hoped her mother's cries weren't disturbing her father. He'd be so angry.

"Shhh," the girl said through the door. "Shhhh." But her mother's groans continued, rose and fell like waves. She sat down on the floor, back against the door, and waited, praying for help but also praying that her father wouldn't come.

Was this what dying sounded like? the girl wondered. What would she do without her mother? Who would take care of her? Her father barely paid her any mind. It was her mother who sang her to sleep, braided her hair, and painted her nails, the one who held her close when she had bad dreams.

The room grew dark, and still, her mother remained on the other side of the door. There were so many things to be afraid of, but the dark wasn't one of them. The girl didn't mind the dark one bit. There were three kinds of dark. In the morning, there was the gray-edged dark that gradually slid into blues and pinks and meant that most likely, her father would be going to work soon. It was always better when her father was away though it made her mother more anxious. Her mother worried that he wouldn't come back, and then what would they do? They wouldn't have money for food and clothes. Her mother fretted, but the girl felt more relaxed in the long hours that he was away.

Then there was after-dinner dark. This was the time after she washed her face and brushed her teeth. She would sit on the sofa between her mom and dad and watch one of the movies that they pushed into the little machine that sat beneath the television. After-dinner dark was made up of hazy purples and navy blues and gave her an all-is-right-with-the-world feeling. Watching TV together, sometimes sharing a bowl of popcorn, told the girl that her family wasn't all that different than the ones in the movies.

But after-dinner dark was also the most unsettling time of day. If her father was in a bad mood or her mother sad, there was nowhere for her to go. She had to listen to the angry words, the tears, and the sharp slaps and punches. In these times, she would go to her favorite spot beneath the window and look at books in the fading light peeking through the gap between the shade and pane of glass.

The blackest dark came in the middle of the night. It was warm and velvety and sounded like her mother's breathing right next to her.

It isn't the dark you should be afraid of, the girl thought, it's the monsters who step out into the light that you need to fear.