I hear the screaming from my upstairs neighbor while I’m browsing for uses for my 6+ jars of compote. I’ve gathered them this winter from relatives. I don’t have a sweet tooth but I wouldn’t want their work to go to waste so I’m looking for ways to use them in recipes.
At first the shouting doesn’t bother me, but then I unconsciously understand what they are saying. Then I feel my chest tightening and my pulse increasing. I loose my focus and I’m starting to feel extremely mad. Furious! I’m clutching my teeth and looking in the distance.
My memories take over. I’m a child again, doing my homework during the weekend, while outside it’s sunny. A beautiful day to enjoy during winter. But I’m stuck at home, in my room, at the desk, writing. I look up and I see an adult screaming at me. I bounce between the present and the past. The voice coming from upstairs is fueling the story, and my mind is filling in the blacks.
I’m listening closely because I’m hoping to hear the child. I’m looking for a sign that they’re okay. But there’s nothing and I’m imagining a beautiful light becoming smaller and smaller as the shouting continues.
I’m now imagining knocking on their door and telling them to stop. But I know it would be of no use. At least not now. I feel trapped. Unable to move. I’m listening to the abuse as if I’m there in the room with them. I think I have no escape and there is no way out. The screaming stops.
I take a step back and think about all the homes, all the children in all the bedrooms in the country where this is an every day occurrence. I feel the anger transforming into sadness. More than 25+ and yet the children of before are hurting the children of today the same way. What will it become of this young generation?
Only time will tell.