My Story Called "The Ugly"

I said I would publish the encounter with my alcoholic stepfather, we here it is.. Goodluck :P

Have you ever heard a question that just brought back a memory you hate to think about? I have. It was Valentine's Day, and it was the One Billion Rising event. We were all sitting in a courtyard listening to speakers talk about their experiences with rape and abuse; a very sensitive subject for all. Then they played a tape for two young children calling 911 and asking why their dad is hitting their mother. I could hear them all crying, and then the phone cut out. That brought me back to the scariest moment of my life. This is one of the four memories I can recall from my high school experience. There is only one word to describe it - Ugly.
It was an average Thursday in July that consisted of nothing but chores, or so I thought. My sister and I were hanging out on our old withered hammock, and my mother and stepfather were unloading large bags of animal feed into the grey plastic tack shed. All of a sudden the hammock snapped, we both fell fast into the dirt and were now stuck in the jumbled mess of rope. While laughing and trying our hardest to get out, we heard the adults arguing like always so we just ignored it. Then we heard our stepfather yell, "Girls! Come help your mother!" Kind of confused, we reluctantly headed down towards them. As we drew closer, I noticed my mother had dusty tears on her face and was now yelling at us to get into her navy blue Ford F250. We did as she said, being she was angry, and we did not want to make it worse. Then she quickly climbed into the driver seat and sped off across our property, spewing chucks of dirt and dust at my stepfather. As we held on for our lives, she drove furiously to the front driveway of our house. Once we had stopped and the dust finally caught up to us, my sister and I asked, "What happened?" and, "What's going on?" As we were rushed inside, my mother told us that he was drunk once again and making crazy accusations. Because my stepfather was still outside, my mother called our 5 larger dogs inside, being she does not trust him with them; now we had 6 dogs inside causing mayhem. Thinking it was all over, I decided to try and get my mind off what just happened and made myself a rapid repast. By the time I finished, all the dogs were sleeping and occasionally sitting at my feet begging for food. Then it all truly started. My stepfather headedly rushed into the house, yelling and followed my mother into their bedroom and closed their white door fast resulting in a large "bang!" I could hear the yelling of statements and names he was calling her that really infuriated me, but I tried to ignore it. Then I started to hear banging behind that door and then I started to hear glass objects being thrown, silencing the already quiet house with crashes. Feeling furry masses lean against my legs, I looked down and saw all 6 of my dogs at my feet in fear of the din behind that devilish door. I hind of cracked a smile because that was the first time all the dogs came to me at once. By this time in the situation, I see my sister at the gateway to hell, knocking and screaming for my mother to come out. We both were extremely worried, but I knew there was nothing I could do but wait. Then finally the door opens with my mother exiting and comforting my sister. My mother attempts to send her to her room to keep her out of the situation, yet she did not obey. My weeping sister ran over to me, and I caressed her, trying to comfort her, and constantly repeating "She can take care of herself. She is a big girl." I was still trying to convince myself that she will be fine. The arguing continued behind that sinister door, while I just stood there in the once peaceful kitchen listening, imagining and trying not to cry. "I have to be strong... For my mother and my sister," I kept repeating to myself. Then my mother comes rushing, more like stomping, out of the room and behind her came my infuriated stepfather. I then notice something glistening red on his forehead; it is blood, not a lot but enough to notice. I quickly glance into their room and see a hole in their wall and thinking to myself, "Was that from his head or his fist?" I do not know and honestly could care less, as long as he kept his hands off my mother. Next thing I know, my mother is on the ground, like she was shoved and clambered to stand upright again. She was crying, and I wish I could help, but I was still standing there like a concrete statue, helpless and permanently there. He dashed to the door and my mother followed. I was now at he kitchen window, watching them like a hawk stalking its prey. They continued to argue outside, but there was no violence. He threatened to call the cops on her, and she let him. My mother subsequently went back inside and locked himself outside. 5 minutes later, two cop cars pull up outside; "Finally!" I thought to myself. One handcuffed my stepfather and shoved him into the car banging my stepfather's head on the doorway. That made me so happy. I thought I would not be able to smile, but I did. The other officer came inside and did some questioning and took some pictures. Inside that room were broken furniture dispersed everywhere and holes in walls, luckily my mother only had a few bruises from flying wood. Lastly, they confiscated his two guns; thank god he was too drunk to remember where they were. The one thing that will always make me tick is when the officer told us, "He will be in jail for the night to sober him up." Keep him forever please! I never want to see his face again. I will always remember the worst 45 minutes of my life.
If I were to redo this type of situation, I would definitely change everything I did and did not do. I probably would have called the cops earlier in the situation, because the cops would have responded faster and would have been more forceful with him, even though they did shove his face into the patrol car. Also, if I would have called, in the domestic violence report, it would say that a minor called on him, thus making it even more serious. I wish I had said something to him instead of being silent and statue-like. One thing I do not regret is comforting my sister. That was the first time ever that I truly felt that if anything happened to her, I could not go on. Even though we fight constantly, I do love her.

Life Quote: "Life is not about waiting for the storms to pass... It's about learning how to dance in the rain."