Storms

It’s unbelievable how much one’s life can be like a movie.
As of now, the storm is over; we are past the hard part. For now.
But let me start from the beginning.
Monday morning, 6 am. I wake up early to yelling. I sleepwalk out of my bed, out into the main entrance hall. My dad is sitting on the stairs, my mom across the entire house on the other side of the upper stairs, my brother blocking both from getting at each other. “Fucking whore, she took my money, she doesn’t let me be happy…” my dad is screaming at my brother, at my mother, at no one in particular. It’s a speech we’ve all heard before countless times trapped in the car on the way to various extracurriculars, or on other occasions like this one. This time was different.
My mother stands there, takes it. We go to school. My dad tranforms into this pleasant guy, have-a-nice-day…but I can’t ever respect him. It’s a vicious cycle. On the way out, though, I’m worried. A few words, said casually as he drops us off: “Get mommy to give me the money, or she might not be here when you get back.”
I go through school, joke with friends, the usual. I come home, worried. He can’t actually do anything physically, of course, but I know how much words hurt her. More than anything.
She’s gone. He’s gone. This is quite average for us. I make dinner and do homework, after calling my mom. She’s spending the night away and leaving the next day to China for a reunion (planned), but not coming home. She’s scared.
I pack a few things that I know she forgot (I know her). After convincing her to come and get the bag I pack, I then nag her to check her papers.
Her passport is missing. After searching in vain for near an hour, we come to the conclusion that Dad took it.
After calling him, we get a terse answer. He’s gone. Not anywhere specific, just gone. They go to track him down while I stay at home and wait. He has a gun.
10 pm, he appears. He just comes home. I sit there, not quite knowing what to do, but I decide to act normal. Where did he go? Nowhere. Why did he leave? Silence. He sits, staring at the TV.
My mother goes to the police station, files a report, then spends the night sleeping in her car with the provisions I’ve packed for her.
In the morning, she confronts him. He denies. Where did he go? Silence. Did he take the passport? Silence. Then an outburst: “I didn’t take your fucking passport! Where’s the proof? Huh? No proof!”
It was so hilarious, in an ironic way. He was so obviously guilty, standing there, denying it to hell, screaming at a simple question. That’s comedy, right there.
I go to school, late. The teacher gives me a condescending glance. He’ll never know.
I call them at break. They’re going to the airport. How? She’s given him what he wanted: the money. 100,000 cash, and half of our everything, all to him. He wants to travel the world and spend it all. He thinks he’s dying or some shit like that.
So she’s gone, and I’m thankful that she’s now safely in China. My dad is now gone, off to sell a house we own so he can pocket the cash.
And we are home alone. Finally.
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