There was an unfamiliar gleam of pride in her eyes the day she finished the quilt. If I had ever seen her as happy as she was then I don't remember it. Her sense of accomplishment was well founded; the quilt was a stunningly beautiful work of art. I didn't realize until Christmas morning when I opened it that I hadn't seen the quilt in almost a month. Being so touched she gave it to me as a gift, I found myself too choked up to even thank her properly. It meant more to me than anything I'd ever had before and I vowed to keep it forever.
As lost in my reverie as I was, it didn't take very long before I jumped to attention because of the sharp tapping sounds I heard against the window. It was mom. He had ripped her clothes off to beat her and then locked her out of the house. Again.
I went to the pane of glass and put my hand against it to let her know I knew she was there. From the glow of the moonlight alone, I could see she was nude, bruised and bleeding. She put her finger to her lips, and pointed in the direction of the front door. I nodded my head, grabbed the quilt - thinking I could wrap it around her - and crept out of the bedroom; carefully avoiding the creaky places in the floor of the old house.
At that moment, a deep hatred for my mother recoiled in my guts. Her weakness disgusted me. She allowed what happened to her and as far as I could tell, did nothing to stop it. If someone had asked me if I was angrier with my mother or my father right then, I don�t know how I would have responded. I just know that any anger or hatred I felt for my mother didn�t stop me from hurrying through the house to let her inside.
In my haste to bring my mother in from the cold, I neglected to listen for the prominent, grainy wheeze of her husband snoring. As attentive as I tried to be, not listening for the sound of his sleep proved to be an oversight of monumental error. That one mistake changed my life forever.
Just as I opened the door and held the quilt out to my mother, I was pushed forward. He had been hiding just inside the laundry room waiting for me to let her inside. I had been through this time and time again; I was just never caught before. He screamed something about �catching me� and then kicked the small of my back. I was propelled forward, and bounced screaming down the concrete steps, finally coming to a halt at the bottom.
I must have lost consciousness, maybe it was only for a minute, but it was probably longer. At some point, my mother went inside to get dressed. I realized that at about the same time I saw her worried expression and noticed I was unable to move my left arm. I heard erratic sounds stumbling through the old house, and my heart rate increased. I could hear the sound of blood pumping in my ears, I tried to sit up and get away. Mother pushed me back down and told me to lie still. I guess it didn�t matter to her he was coming back. I closed my eyes; maybe he wouldn�t notice me. Maybe he would leave us alone. Maybe his liver would finally give out and he would die. Then he�d leave us alone.
�She awake yet?� His words slurred like water sloshing in a bucket, he was still too drunk to make much sense.
�Yes, but she has to go to the hospital. I think her arm is broken. She probably needs stitches, but there�s so much blood I can�t tell where.�
�Bullshit! She just wants attention. You know what a drama queen she is. You�re not going anywhere.�
Mom straightened her back and faced him directly. In a tone of voice I�d never heard her use with him before, she said, �I will be taking her to the hospital. We are going now.� Her words were sharp and controlled. She clipped the end of each word off for enunciation and the words rolled from her tongue with a stern finality.