Iron Fists and Silent Cries

Hoboken, New Jersey (1971)

Mildred saw the rain splattering and pouring down her bedroom windowpane. She desperately tried to stay busy by keeping track of the direction the raindrops took once they landed on her window. Some seemed to rapidly trickle down without straying in the slightest, others collided with existing raindrops and made their way to the very bottom; however, the ones that always had her undivided attention were those that (in her mind) seemed to make their way down as if they were attempting to win some sort of race.

No amount of self-distraction was able to dissipate the tears she felt forming in the corners of both her eyes. Almost immediately, a deep-rooted sense of shame overtook Mildred. She hated herself for showing weakness in these moments, especially at a time where she needed to be strong.

Mildred heard her mom frantically putting away recently washed dishes into the disheveled kitchen cabinets. Even with her bedroom door locked, she could tell that her mom was trying to keep herself distracted with some last-minute cleaning. Both of them knowing very well what would happen that night. As it did every Friday night.

Like clockwork, her mom shifted her attention to Andrés, Mildred's two-year-old baby brother. Surely checking in to ensure that he was tucked away in his crib safe and out of reach.

As the evening turned into night, Mildred shifted her attention from peering out the window to getting herself ready for what was about to come. She had important matters to attend to after all. Like making sure she had a quarter handy for the payphone a few blocks down the road.

Regardless of how Mildred wanted her family life to be, this was the reality they faced. From the outside looking in, they seemed like an average blue-collar family. What most people failed to realize was that every Friday night her stepfather would get drunk at some local bar and then head back home with an inexplicable furry. Without fail, he would transfer whatever weekly frustrations he had over to Mildred's mom. Almost like she was an enemy he was trying to defeat in combat.

As far as Mildred was concerned, it wasn't useful to wish for a miraculous change in his destructive tendencies or that her mother would leave her abuser. For as long as Mildred could remember, her stepfather’s abusive behavior was brought on by his alcohol abuse. The ruthless beatings her mom was subjected to every Friday night had Mildred running to the payphone to call the cops. The cops would then take him away into custody just to release him the next day because her mom would always pay the bail.

Sometimes Mildred would go as far as fantasizing about how great life would be if he'd just die under mysterious circumstances. Although she recognized she should feel bad about having those dark thoughts, she didn't. Plain and simple.

Distracted by her wandering mind, Mildred failed to notice that her shoelaces were untied so she hurriedly tied them back up. Who would have ever guessed that a phone call would be her mom’s temporary saving grace? How far would her stepfather go if no one put a stop to him?

She knew there wasn’t much time left - maybe about a minute - before her stepfather sloppily made his way up the stairs and into their three-bedroom apartment. The adrenaline started pumping through her petite frame. She could feel her heartbeat as she tightly gripped the quarter in her jacket pocket.

The creaking noise the front door made when opened always had a way of sending chills down her spine. Hell, she could feel the chills forming all over her body at that point. Even though this was a weekly ordeal, the fear that creeped into her very being was always equal to the first time she saw him abusing her mom. Throwing her around like a rag doll.

“Where are you?!” He aggressively inquired as soon as he stumbled in.

Mildred couldn't hear exactly what her mom's response was. She must have muttered something that he didn't particularly care for though.

“You know... I had a terrible day at work and now I have to come home to THIS,” he screamed.

While this was going on in the living room, Mildred sat on the floor waiting for a sign. Waiting for the slightest indication that their interaction was turning physical. As if on cue, she heard it.

CRACK!

That was the moment she'd been both anxiously dreading and waiting for. It was the sound of something breaking, the sound of strife quickly escalating.

Her first move was to open her bedroom door. The smell of alcohol immediately wafted up her nostrils and burned her to the core. She didn't have time to ruminate on the odor; instead, she concentrated intently on making it through the hallway and out of the apartment complex.

As Mildred spurted out the hallway, she caught a glimpse of the horrid scene and immediately wished she could somehow unsee it. She heard her mom gasping for air. Glass from the new vase they recently bought at her favorite second-hand shop was shattered across the living room floor.

She couldn't waste any more time thinking about the situation because it would only slow her down. She had to get to the payphone NOW. Nothing would deter her from making it there. Before she knew it, she was out the front door and all she could hear at a distance was her stepfather screaming for her to get back.

The rain continued to pour as Mildred crossed the street as fast as humanly possible. She took two right turns and then made a quick left. The payphone was there, hopefully empty.

Thankfully, no one was using it. She placed the quarter in the coin slot and mechanically dialed 911. Mildred had done this so many times before that she didn't even have to look at the buttons to dial the number. She knew where they were located by heart.

“Nine-one-one operator, what is your emergency?”

“Please send someone over to my apartment. My stepdad is going to kill my mom if you don’t. We're at 333 River Street.”

“ They’re on their way. Please stay put.”

“Thank you,” was all she could muster at that particular moment. If she had to guess, this was the same emergency respondent she spoke to on a weekly basis.

As she waited to hear the sirens before heading back home, Mildred decided to people watch. It was the only way to self-soothe. A family caught her eye almost immediately. The father had one arm extended towards his daughter’s hand and the other one was seamlessly wrapped around his wife. All trying to stay dry under the same umbrella. They were all laughing at some inside joke that only they knew. It was like something out of a movie and Mildred couldn't help but feeling like an outsider. Was this what a healthy family dynamic should be like? Were families supposed to be a source of comfort and unwavering love? For most people it seemed like it definitely was that way, while others had to deal with situations like hers.

It wasn't long after that moment that she heard the sirens approaching.

Author's note: This short story is based on real-life events that transpired in a family member's life in the 1970s. Creative reimagining factored into this adaptation, but the essence of it remains true.