Questions Unanswered

There was only one rule: don't open the door. That was where the grossness lay. In my head, not opening the door would mean I would be forgotten. This hope was repeated night after night, fooling myself again and again, but I was always called out to the madness. I could not hide.

My younger brother and I would huddle and congregate in lame attempts to support ourselves in the unescapable situation, but we were too small and weak to fight what was inevitable. Idol chit-chat and childish games could pass the time but for only so long.

The unidentifiable noises we would hear. The stomach, sickening smells in the air. The anxiety as each minute on the clock would disappear bringing us closer to the vileness. I would comfort my brother the best I could, but in my heart, I knew he would just have to be strong, as would I.

Was this happening everywhere? Was this normal? Is this every family? Why us? These were the questions I would ask myself, along with others, but I never got the answers. I was always too afraid to ask friends at school or other family if they were experiencing the same. I did not know how to ask for assistance.

As the time drew nearer and nearer, we would bicker and verbally fight. An obvious distraction from what was to come. Through the years, you would think we would get used to the horror, but that was just not the case. Even the ominous becomes routine. Hours became minutes. Minutes became seconds. Then, without fail, the inevitable summons:

"COME EAT, DINNERS READY!"

And the self-imposed rule would have to be broken. My gosh, would it ever end? Yuck!