Sundown House

Chapter 1

The night of my father's funeral, my mother broke every plate in the house. I was upstairs putting my four-year-old sister to bed when I heard the smash of glass coming from our little kitchen. My mother was usually a nervous person; the play loud music and sleep with a flashlight during a thunderstorm type of person, and she had been through a lot today. I knew something as stupid as her accidentally breaking a glass may put her over the edge. By the time I heard the second crunch of porcelain on tile, I knew something was up. I kissed my sister goodnight, happy that she was exhausted from our busy day, and made my way to the stairs across from her room.

I probably should have been more surprised when I went downstairs and found my mom standing on the kitchen counter, calmly destroying our family's dinner plates on the floor as if she was punishing them for some crime committed against her, but surprisingly I was not. She was still in her black dress, the one that usually hung forgotten about in the back of her closet. Her shoes had been kicked off hours ago and her blonde waves were starting to fall out of their sleek bun; a total reversal of her usual put-together demeanor. I wasn't really sure when my mom would break from the stress of the last week. Apparently, that time was now.

"Parker, do you know these were the very first set of dishes that I owned." She was staring at one of our fairly unremarkable dinner plates, her eyes looking past the shiny white center and the blue floral border Corelle was famous for when Smash! The plate met its unfortunate end on the white tile. I stood in the doorway, shoving my hands in the pockets of my sweater watching as my mother reached into the cabinet for another. I couldn't help but think of how happy I was that my sister was a very sound sleeper.

"Gram got these for our wedding." Smash! She threw the plate on the ground and watched it shatter into a million pieces. There was now a little mountain of shards collecting in the middle of the floor. She reached into the cabinet continuing the execution of our family's dinnerware that was currently going down. She held it for a second and then smashed it on the floor adding to the broken pile. "I have always hated them." Smash!

It was clear that there was not a whole lot that I could do during this time of temporary insanity that had taken over my mother. She had spent most of the day with a forced smile on her face, shaking lots of hands and giving stiff hugs. There weren't many times in her life where she was the one calling the shots. I don't think she really knew how to act without my dad around telling her what to do. We had spent the last seventeen years just surviving. My mom had married my dad not because of love, but because it was "the right thing to do." She was six months pregnant with me on their wedding day. Ever since then, we had both walked on eggshells around him.

His funeral took the cake for the strangest day of my life. On one hand, this was a person who had been in my life forever. It wasn't like he did any dad stuff; he had never been to any of my track meets or school plays. I don't think he ever even went to a parent-teacher conference. On the other hand, he was mean when he drank, which was most of the time. He treated my mom like crap and pretty much ignored me.

My sister, on the other hand, he loved. Macy was the perfect little kid, all blonde curls and big blue eyes. Once, when we were at the mall, some person asked my mom if she was interested in letting her audition to be in a cereal commercial. She had that type of face. She was the total opposite of mom and I in terms of both looks and personality, besides her hair. She got mom's hair. Mom and I both didn't love being the center of attention and tended to keep to ourselves while Macy was a little ray of sunshine. Dad always thrived off of energetic people.

One thing about my father was that he could put on a show, that's for sure. But there was no stopping him when he was flung into a violent temper. My mom was usually the target of these attacks, but there had been a few directed towards me. They came on suddenly, usually over the stupidest thing. I absently rubbed the little nob of reformed bone in my wrist, trying not to remember the time he fractured it when I had accidentally broken a vase. When he died, I felt more relief than anything that he was gone.