I hardly remember anything. I am not talking about your everyday, run-of-the-mill, forgot to get eggs at the grocery store. The first ten years of my life are a blur, I have but a few memories, and even those are blurry and possibly unreliable. There is one memory, however, that I can’t seem to forget no matter how much time passes. You could say the obvious -- that memory stuck because of its traumatic content -- but that is not why. This memory stuck because it completely restructured my mind and my thought. It was as if I could feel my brain rewriting the past and editing my present. Everything I had ever known no longer made sense. The universe itself no longer made sense to me, like I was some small project being dragged around by a larger, heartless being. I began to question why I am here and what I am supposed to do while I’m here. Do I just walk around alternating between painful and joyful experiences until I simply drop into the soil? This memory allowed me to see the world the way it really is, that the people who protect you make mistakes too. Though it took years, it ironically became the foundation to the positive perspective I now have on life and myself.

I could smell the clean cut grass as I kicked open my cherry red front door. I simultaneously unstuck my backpack from my skin and tossed it on the floor. I made my way towards the couch, untying my shoes as I went. I used my right foot to slide my shoe off my left heel, and hobbled to the couch.
I screeched up the stairs, “Mom, I’m home!”

There was no answer, but I wasn’t worried, she is hard of hearing.
My house had finally cooled down and the glare on the T.V. was long gone as my sister joined me on the couch. I could tell something was weird about her but I didn’t know what, and at the age of 9 I wasn’t quite sure what to do when someone doesn’t look right. She sat stiffly on the couch, with her eyes fixed on the TV. She wasn’t watching the Suite Life of Zach and Cody. She was staring through the TV. either thinking about something else, or not thinking at all. I ignored this and returned to my show. I rose off the couch to get a glass of water from the kitchen, when she stuck her arm out blocking my path. I have always been a free bird who hates being restrained -- physically and mentally.
“Kelsey stop”, I scolded. Automatically I became angry and was definitely in the mood for a challenge.
“Why don’t you just sit down and watch.” She said calmly and with fear. She was older by three years, and never, ever, cowered from my presence. I toned down by attitude and became intrigued.
“Why?” I asked. Before she could answer me, I heard my mother yelling upstairs. I couldn’t make out her words but she was very angry. My mother never yells. I had always wished she was a yeller because her quiet scolding is far more intimidating. This was the first time I heard my mother yell, and the first time I heard my mother this angry. I looked at my sister and she knew I had heard. She knew something I didn’t, and that anger added to the worried pit in my stomach.
“What is she saying?” She knew I meant my mother.
“I don’t know?”
“Well who is she talking to?”
“I don’t know, dad or something.”
I could tell the sound was traveling from the side of the house my brother lives, and it didn’t seem likely to me that my dad wouldn’t be in his room preparing for bed.
“I think she’s talking to Ian”, I said. Immediately afterward I hear a loud slap. Even at that age I knew what had just happened. My older sister failed to make the connection I did. My defensive reflexes kicked in and I bolted upstairs straight to my brother’s room, straight past my dad who was lingering by the stairs.
The next thing I remember is standing in front of my brother open door. In the memory, I am so short, unreasonably short. It is as if I am laying down looking up at the room from the floor. The hallway I am standing in is dark, and my brother’s room is glowing warm colors. In front of me is the backside of my mother, and in front of her is my brother. My mother is screaming at him, sweating, and moving in an unusual, jerky manor. My brother is crammed back as far away from her as the room allows, against his bunk bed. I am standing there, motionless, and no one notices me. It is as if I am invisible, but I like it. My mother attempts to pick up the old 90’s TV. in my brothers room. She struggles for a while, but finally picks it up and tries to lunge it at my brother. The TV. falls right in front of her, and he remains about five feet away.
I’m not sure what upset me more this day, the fact my father allowed my mothers inappropriate verbal abuse to go on long enough for it to escalate to physical abuse, or the aggressive behavior towards my brother.
The memory jumps to me in the same doorway but no one else is in my brother’s room but my brother. He is sitting on the edge of the bed crying, while staring at me wide eyed. I had never seen my brother cry; he was 16 at the time. His eyes were puffy red and his eyes squinted as his face cringed. I watched as different tides of emotions swelled threw him. He expressions alternated between sorrow, and anger. It took a few tries, but he managed to scream out some words for me.
“Don’t believe anything she says!”
“Okay.” I surprised myself at how calm I had replied and how honest my answer was.
“Whatever she tells the cops-you know what you saw, me and dad didn’t do anything!” His voice spoke with so much anger and truth.
“Okay.”
I’m not sure what happened after that. I know that there were never cops. And that no one ever spoke of this night again. My mother never touched any of us and never yelled like that again. Though we have never discussed it, my brother and I have an understanding now. We both hold the truth and we both know we will always protect each other. Though his is the oldest, and I am the youngest child, we will always have this bond, founded by this dreadful memory.
I was no longer a child after this night. Sure, my immature ways continued for the next 5 years, but I lost my innocence. I became aware of my surrounding and paid more attention to others’ actions and words. I saw my mother, and family in a new light. I knew that even the people you love aren’t perfect. Just because your family is your family, does not mean they have never sinned.
I developed a protective trait that still remains. I feel this night gave me the protective reflexes I often use around my friends, and also my instinctive reasoning that keeps me out of danger. I am thankful that I managed to turn an experience that could have ruined me into something that improved me, even at such a young age. I know it was too early for a child to see such violence, but I am glad I lost my innocence at that age. It prepared me for the many ups and downs I would have and will continue to have.