Family Above All

By Jem Morgenstern

In our Father’s Arms

Blood on the linoleum. Muffled crying. I could picture the scene in the other room clearly – I had seen it before, I had been in her position before. Children, like us, are dangerously likely to make small mistakes. He didn’t like small mistakes, he didn’t like children.

            Blood on the linoleum. Muffled crying. She could picture the scene in the other room clearly – she had seen it before, she had been in my position before. He had one hand over my boiling mouth and the other pressed down on my neck.

He said, “stop, you little bitch, be quiet.”

So we would be quiet.

In our Mother’s Arms

            She put an arm around me and told me it was okay, so I believed it was okay. Blood would stop leaking from my nose. Bruises would come and go. The room was bright with the sun’s light. I believed this was a good place.

            She put an arm around her and told her it was okay, but she knew it wasn’t. Blood would stop leaking from her nose. Bruises would come and go. The sun’s light poured through the windows from outside. She knew a better place was out there.

            She said, “he won’t do it again.”

            But he would do it again.