Hush Child, or We’ll All Be Killed (updated)

We are thankful for the effort that two Janes expended to collaboratively create the following contribution. The opeing paragraph (in italics) is a foreword from the Janes themselves.

<--->

This is a story of a life with an alcoholic father. It is a combination of many womens’ stories. It is more frequent than we like to admit. My friend Rhonda and I worked on this together. We consider it the first of many memories coming from many women’s lives. We will continue to share these stories as time permits… Please read them and comment.

<--->

"Hush Child, or We’ll All Be Killed"


DEEANNNAAA! BAM! BAM! BAM!! OPEN THIS DOOR!!!!

Suddenly the tranquility of the afternoon at my grandparents' house erupts into a nightmare again. My father begins to beat his mother's front door violently with his. I believe the whole thing is, at any minute, about to come crashing in he is striking it so hard. All of us - my whole family, brothers, sister, mother - petrified inside. My grandparents run wildly, securing additional doors and windows to prevent another way in. A familiar drill. Familiar, but no less terrifying.

“He’s drunk again” the grown ones whisper. He’s drunk again. Oh God…

BITCH!!!!! SLUT!!!!!!! WHORE!!!!!!! WHO HAVE YOU BEEN FUCKING BEHIND MY BACK!!!!!!!

My three tender years of experience cannot understand what "Johnnie’s drunk again" means really. What I do understand is that Daddy being "drunk again" means violence. It means my mother being mercilessly beaten for imagined crimes against him. It means police and hospitals; and oceans and oceans of tears. In the aftermath comes the strange silence where no one speaks of it. All pretending the nightmare events of "Johnnie being drunk again" never occur. Daddy himself sheepish, or disappearing all together. Mother battered, bruised, weeping, and the family gathered in strange silent vigil.

BAM! BAM! … DDDDEEEEEEAAAAAANNNNAAA!!! YOU BITCH!!!! BAM! BAM!!BAM!!! I HATE YOU, YOU BITCH!!! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!!!!!!


“He’s got a gun!” my grandfather shouts from the door. “Johnnie!” my brave Papa shouts, “put that gun away! I’m calling the police! You aint comin’ in here drunk!”

FUCK HER!!!! I AM GOING TO KILL THAT BITCH!!!!! BAM! BAM!! BAM!!!

I wet my pants. I begin to scream. My Grand-Mama grabs me up and whisks me to a closet under the stairs. She crawls to the very back with me and covers us with blankets in the pitch black. “No matter what, Lucy, you stay here. Don’t you move” she commands me. “Grand-Mama loves you. You stay here no matter what happens. Hush child, or we’ll all be killed”.

DEAAANNNNAAAA!!! BITCH!!! YOU SLUT!!!! YOU COME OUT HERE RIGHT NOW OR I’LL KILL EVERYBODY!!! BAM! BAM! BAM!!!!!

Grand-Mama tries to remove me from her arms so she can leave to help, but I cling to her, deeply afraid. The blackness of the closet eats away at my sanity. Her breath comes fast and hard. I could smell the terror on her skin, in her sweat. Rivers of it ran off her trembling body. Rivers of sweat ran off mine. I hear her fright in her quavering, unreal voice. I hear mine in my own helpless whimpering. There is more shouting from my father … more hammering at the door, more filthy yelling from the yard, straight into my Mama’s heart.

DEEEAAANNNAAA!!! BITCH!!! YOU SLUT!!!!I AM COMING IN THERE AND I AM GOING TO BEAT THE CRAP OUT IF YOU!!! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!!! BAM! BAM! BAM!!!!!

BAM!!! BAMBAMMBAMBAMMMBAAAAMMMM!!!!!!!!!

BIIIIIIITTTTTTTTCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

I bury my head deep into my grandmother’s breast in the darkness. We cling together, she and I, lost in fear. The frantic running of feet up the stairs. My Mama? My brothers and sister? Were they going to hide like me and my Grand-Mama? My Papa, was he hiding them safely away, as I was hidden? Would he stay with them and keep them safe? Why did Daddy do this? I weep silently remembering my Grand-Mama’s warning. I listen intently to all the terrible noises. I will not make a sound so Grand-Mama will not be killed. So my family will not be killed.

BAMMMMBAMMMBBBBAAAMMMM!!! DEEEEAAAANNNNNNNNNAAAA! COME OUT HERE YOU BITCH SO I CAN SHOOT YOUR STUPID HEAD OFFFFF!!!!!!!!

Silently tears flow from my Grand-Mama heart onto my head, they Baptise me in her pain. They stream down my face mixing with my own. Our fear, our pain, our love is one. She is me and I am her and I can’t separate the two of us. My heart/her heart hammering in my chest, my breath/her breath is too fast …We are nauseated, we are dizzy, we are petrified. Sirens wail coming closer and closer.

BITCH!!!! BITCH!!! BAM!!!!!! BAMMMM!!!!! BAM!!! BAM!!!!! BAMMMM!

CRACK!!!!

HE’S INSIDE!!!!! HE IS INSIDE!!!!!

Terrified screams erupt from deep within the house!!! Is it my mother? Is it my sister? Is it all of us? Someone is being killed! I begin to scream hysterically in response. "He is killing us! Heiskillingusheiskillingus!!!" My mind is lost in the overwhelming fear. My head is spinning out of control and suddenly all goes blank.

I wake in my grandmother’s bed to the smells of dinner. I hear the hushed voices of my family. It’s over I thought, we are all here, all safe now. Was it real? Was it a dream? It didn’t matter, because in my family, we don’t speak of it. Don’t remember it. IT isn’t real if we don’t acknowledge it. He has not killed us …… Hush child, or we’ll all be killed.

Or maybe we are already dead.

~Barbara Rhyne-Tucker (writer)
~Rhonda McLearen (editor)