CW: domestic unrest, bullying

I thought she would scream at me but, it was worse. She just stared. At the shock on my face, my reddening cheeks and the shards of glass glinting on the carpet.

‘I didn’t mean to,’ I said in a rush, expecting my mother’s retort of: ‘that’s what you always say.’ But she didn’t. She said nothing. She turned around, got in the car and drove away, leaving me to gape at an empty square of air where the pane of frosted glass should have filled the front door.

My brothers had heard the smash, poked their heads into the hall and then retreated back to the TV as soon as they understood what had happened.

I edged away from the door, glass crunching under my feet. The shatter rang in my ears. The familiar creep of shame and regret tightening around my chest. I leant against the wall and tried to steady my breathing. My eyes stung with the effort to hold back tears. I’d done it this time, really fucked up. Why, why, why did I always lose control, let my anger get the better of me?

I couldn’t even remember what started this particular argument. Just the rage, a fire in my belly, when she stormed out of my bedroom pretending not to hear my remonstrations about the latest injustice. Ignoring me was a common tactic of hers in our ongoing war. But this time, instead of slamming my bedroom door and throwing myself on my bed, screaming my frustration into my pillow, I had followed her down the hallway and slammed the front door so hard that everything shattered.

How much would it cost? Did I have enough babysitting money to pay for it? Should I call someone to come fix it? Who even fixes windows? I had no clue.

I waited for her return and the ensuing hell storm for ten, maybe 15 minutes but she didn’t come back. I didn’t pick up the glass or make any attempt to seal the gaping hole at the entrance to our home. I got scared and called my best friend, catching her at home just before she headed to another friend’s house. Without further thought I left, half-running, half-walking through the village. Main street glared under an unusually hot May sun and sweat pooled under my arms. I kept my eyes focused on my patent Doc Martens, hoping to avoid the notice of my fellow villagers.

Sandra and Emer lounged on the green of the housing estate. They were not playing, because we were too old for those kind of games by then, just chatting. I waved. They saw me, glanced at each other and then waved back. I climbed the slope and flopped down next to them on the freshly cut grass.

We must have talked, maybe about school, maybe about crushes or maybe about the latest drama from our broken families. The three latchkey sisters in a friend group where everyone had parents who still slept in the same bed and were able to sustain a conversation unmediated by lawyers, had created an innate solidarity between us. And yet, Sandra’s recent arrival to the group had thrown off the complicit symmetry between Emer and I. Two’s company, three’s a crowd they say, even among friends and even on a day when you’ve just smashed the front door in your mother’s face.

Tears teetered on the edge of my eyelids, threatening to spill at any moment but I wasn’t sure if they had noticed. I said nothing about what had happened half an hour previously, too ashamed to say out loud what I had done. None of my friends new about that side of me, the monster who stalked the halls of my mother’s house. I didn’t want them to realise just how bad I could be. But I was also vaguely aware I had interrupted something. As much as I needed their company, they seemed to want me to disappear.

I’m not sure what exactly led to it, nor how exactly it happened, but I found myself on my back. Sandra was straddling me, pinning my arms to the ground with her knees and laughing while Emer stuffed grass down my top and into mouth. I squirmed and tried to spit out the drying grass but it clung to my tongue and Emer insisted in pushing more in. They laughed harder and I gave up trying to break free. I forced myself to laugh along with whatever game this was, though I was ignorant of the rules.

Maybe they got bored, or maybe they realised I wasn’t having as much fun as they had imagined, because Sandra eventually climbed off me and Emer aimed her tufts of grass at the air. I sat up, brushed my hair and clothes down with my hands and made a joke out of picking the grass off my tongue. I wanted to run away and find a hedge in a deserted field where I might cower and release my tears, but I continued smiling and laughing along with them. It was all just a big joke after all wasn’t it?

I made myself stay another half-hour or so, determined not to seem upset. I needed so desperately to remain part of the latchkey crew that I knew I mustn’t make a fuss. It was not bullying after all. These were my best friends. It was just a bit of fun. No harm done. I needed to lighten up, not take things so seriously. People were always telling me this.

The false merriment drained my remaining energy, so I made up the excuse that needed to be home for tea and left. Home was the last place I wanted to be, but I had nowhere else to go and no one else to run to. I took the long route back, walking as slowly as possible, dreading what might be waiting for me inside.

There was cardboard taped to the door frame and the shards had been removed from the porch and the inside carpet. My mother was in the kitchen putting a frozen pizza in the oven. Eyes fixed on my scuffed and cracked boots, I mumbled an apology. She pretended not to hear me. This time I slammed no doors because I knew it was the least I deserved. I got dinner that night, though no one spoke at the table.

The door was fixed the next day while I was at school. My mother had to take the morning off university but she didn’t guilt me for this. Nor did she demand I cover the cost, nor ground me, nor ban me from seeing my friends. It was never spoken of again. I never told my friends about the door, nor ever mentioned the incident on the grass. I vowed to myself that I would remain on my best behaviour at home and in school and this lasted, for a few weeks at least.

Sometime later, though I can’t remember whether it was during the war or after peace had been established, I dared to ask my mother why she had demanded nothing from me nor exacted a punishment for the door?

‘Don’t you remember Aisling?’ She said, looking at me slightly baffled. ‘That was the day your father and I finally signed the divorce papers.’