David’s Blog

The particle system’s fire FX must be denser I thought to myself, entirely consumed by my programming. It was a dreary and rainy evening just before dinner, roughly 7:30 pm. I was in my large, green-carpeted bedroom in my log-cabin. All seemed peaceful, just another day in life, until “it” happened. At first I heard a loud thud and some items being dropped. These sounds didn’t even phase me compared to what I heard next - my mother screaming.

Without hesitation, I jumped up from my black office chair and ran down the wooden stairs to the first floor of the house. It was then I realized I was holding my breath, letting my imagination run wild. I had to take a few seconds to breathe, leaning on the cedar wall that held up the pictures of my two half-brothers and me, before continuing. Regaining my breath, I opened the door to the makeshift, non-railed stairs that protruded from the basement. I had seen, at the bottom of the stairs to the right, fragments of what had happened moments before. Upon examination of the dark-shaded cement floor, I spotted the shattered remains of what was once a tall forest-green coffee-mug and this kind-of dark red substance - blood. With my curiosity and worry magnifying, I bolted down the stairs, falling into the wall in front of me. Regaining balance, I looked around the basement for someone - something - that would tell if the person whose blood was on the floor was still relatively well.

First, I saw my mother, then the phone in her hand. “… He… stairs… arm…” These were the only words she said that I could make out through this hysteria. This was followed by my father screaming in pain on the other side of the basement. Realizing I wouldn’t get much information out of her, I went searching for my father.

Unable to see him due to the stairs and the wall in my way, I slowly walked toward his voice. Creeping along the cold cement floor to the dark red carpet lining my way toward the direction of his voice, I saw him. My father was reaching into a tin can that he had used for storage. He appeared to be searching for something; for what , was another question entering my thoughts. “He is trying to hurt himself,” my mother struggled to tell whoever she was speaking with though her tears and her crying. She must have heard my father’s scream of pain. “I’m looking for my wallet!” my father exclaimed, his intentions to raise his voice that loud must have been so whoever was talking to my mother could hear.

“Dave, I’m going upstairs…” My father had noticed me and started talking, speaking in an unusually-low voice, trying to remain calm. “I need you to follow me, and watch me until the cops come here. I need you to tell the cops that you have been watching me since the accident.” The cops? What is happening here? Without even time to think I noticed myself nodding, following my father slowly up the stairs, to the right, into our living room. There was absolutely no sunlight and my father had forgotten to turn on the light, thus I was not able to make out his physical condition. It was at this time that I closed my eyes for a brief second and tried to make sense of the few fragments I had of what had just taken place.

My mother had fallen; she said something about her arm. The blood! Was it her blood? The mug, it was shattered… Did it cut her? Why did my father need his wallet? What had happened? Why were the cops coming? I couldn’t work up the nerve to ask him anything, he had this look on his face; this was the first time I had seen this look. I could not tell if this was the look of fear, or the look of nervousness, but I could tell it would be best to hold off from questions. There I sat, wondering and watching my father, letting curiosity getting the best of me as I waited for the next series of events.

From red to blue, the room began to oscillate; the police were here. Gradually, I rose from my position on our faded-blue chair, walking to the front-door to let the authorities enter. “Where is the wife?” one officer asked me. “In the basement, the stairs are right over there.” I pointed, taking notice of the paramedics that had also entered the house. “Now where is the husband?” the same officer questioned. “He is in here, follow me. I have been with him ever since I heard the crash.” I stated, still not knowing what the crash was or why they were even here.

“Son,” the police officer started speaking, “I want you to go check on your brothers; make sure they’re still sleeping.” Doing as I was told, I walked back up the stairs and entered my brothers’ dark bedroom. Without turning on the lights, I slowly crept around, as to not make a sound, making sure they are both still sleeping. As slowly as I came in, I left and headed downstairs. Turning right, I noticed my mother crying in the middle of the kitchen on a wooden stool. Paramedics were providing their services to her right arm; I couldn’t see the extent of the damages.

As soon as the paramedics had finished with my mother, they tended to my father. I approached my mother, this was my time. If I were to find out what exactly had happened, I had to ask her. “Mom, are you okay? What happened? Why are the police here?”

“I’m okay; they had to stitch my arm. I fell off the stairs, I landed onto glass, and it cut my arm. Your dad…” She started to say something, but was cut off by the police. Great timing, I was just about to figure this all out!

“Son, can you please go and talk to your father. We need to talk to your mother and get her take of this event,” the police officer said. If you call me “Son” one more time… and I was not finished talking here. She is my mother, by what right do you have to stop me! I thought, but I failed to reply with my instincts and did what I was told; there was too much trouble in the air as it was. I walked back across the hallway and into the room where my dad was settled; this time the light was on.

“Dad, what happened? Are you okay?” I asked him.

He responded, in a worried voice, “I’m okay, I think I sprained my arm but other than that I’m fine. How is your mother, is she okay?”

“I don’t know. I saw the paramedic leave her. She had stitches, she should be okay though.” I replied trying to sound confident to reassure him.

“She was coming down the stairs with a box in one hand, her coffee in another. I was coming up the stairs and when she saw me, she lost her footing. She tried to balance herself by grasping onto me, but that only brought me down with her. She fell without letting go of the cup. I…” My father paused, trying calming down as to hold back the tears.

“She fell onto the cup and it cut her. I fell onto my arm. She jumped up and called the police.” With every word he spoke, I was frantically trying to guess what he was going to say next, never once guessing what actually happened. If this was an accident, why are the police here? Something doesn’t add up.

The police walked in shortly after my father was done illuminating me on the events that had happened prior, to speak to my father, “Sir, we’re going to need you to come down to the station for a little while. If you could please gather any items you may require and follow me.” My father, without speaking, slowly went to his bedroom, grabbed his medicine, and followed the police out the door.

This seemingly innocuous incident was the final straw for both my parents. Maybe it was indeed an innocent accident; however, the result was catastrophic. This was the day my parents made it clear to each other and the family, they wanted a divorce. Several court-dates later, my mother moved to Tennessee, while I’m left here with my father and brothers in Rhode Island, making the best with the cards we’ve been dealt.