The Ink In-Between: An Anthology (Dark Edition)

Count to Ten

Three lights. Green, red and orange.

There's only one traffic light on the way to church, but for dad it's one too many.

I can see the vein in his forehead pop every time the light is green but we're forced to stop anyway because of a traffic jam.

Time passes and the car doesn't budge an inch, and every second that ticks by just makes my dad angrier and angrier. My mom will sigh, which just makes him even more angry, but she won't dare say anything else.

I wish she did. I wish she told him that it'd be much quicker if we just walked to church, like mom and I do when it's just the two of us.

But she doesn't. Just sits there quietly with a judging or embarrassed look on her face as my dad yells obscenities and makes rude gestures at the other cars.

And then we'll get to church, already late, and dad will fall asleep or make rude remarks during mass. But I'm the one who gets dragged by the ear and yelled at when I use the Lord's name in vain.

Is God really that picky?

... 4 ...

Four headlights in the dark.

Most people in town won't drive when it's dark out. And yet, every Saturday night, I see that same car parked outside our house, half hidden behind the bushes.

My sister won't tell me who that man is. Or why she'll paint her face, or spend hours putting on those clothes that mom doesn't like, just for that man.

I saw her once, when she got back earlier than usual, slumped over on the kitchen floor, her clothes and face all worn and dirty. What's the point then, I wondered, if she's just going to look all messy again?

Her and mom used to get into huge fights over it. But not anymore. I guess they just got tired of it. One time, I heard sis say that dad never spends the night with us either, and that mom never argues with him for that.

And it's true. But I still think my sister shouldn't have said that. It just made mom sad.

Saturdays are supposed to be holy. A day to rest and praise Him, mom would say.

I used to really like Saturdays, because dad wouldn't work, sis and I wouldn't have to do homework, and even mom would take a break from housework. We would all be together, for once.

But these days, it's just mom and I. Alone in that quiet house, eating reheated leftovers on the living room carpet.

I don't think I like Saturdays anymore...

... 5 ...

Five lights. Five lamps in the hospital waiting room.

I've been there a lot. All the nurses know me by now, and they come talk to me, give me sweets or magazines to read, filled with pictures of cozy homes with nice furniture.

I like the nurses. But I don't like the looks they give me when they think I'm not looking.

Mom doesn't like them at all though. Or the doctors, for that matter.

I think she really hates the hospital and having to go there. She gets really nervous, and I used to think it was just because she didn't like visiting the doctor.

But then the nurses started to ask me weird questions. When I told mom, she stopped letting me hang out alone in the waiting room. I'd have to sit quietly next to her, her hand holding onto mine a bit too tightly as the doctor asked me questions and I answered them like mom taught me.