When I was younger, I spent the night at my friend’s house, and I awoke at 2:00 a.m. and I heard his parents screaming at each other in an all out verbal battle.
I used to love going to Mike Thompson’s house to sleep over. His mom was especially cool. She would let us do things and get away with things that I could never do or get away with at home. She would let us stay out running around the neighborhood well past midnight. If we were too rowdy and too rambunctious, she would approach us with matching rolls of unwrapped toilet paper and tell us to “go burn off some steam” as she opened the front door.
The following morning the neighbors could not have imagined that their house was teepeed as a result of an idea entirely born and sanctioned in the mind of Mrs. Thompson.
It was a fun house to spend my childhood sleepovers at.
One night, though, it was not so fun. Mr. Thompson worked the graveyard shift and was often out of the house. When he was home, he was a shadowy and mysterious figure. We’d always have to tip-toe around the house and be quiet not to wake him before he needed to get up for his night job. One night, Mr. Thompson and Mrs. Thompson had been drinking. And they had been talking. And then they started fighting–in the very living room that Mike an I were sleeping in.
I woke up mid-fight and heard Mrs. Thompson allege that Mr. Thompson had beaten her. She talked about broken collarbones and fractured elbows. She talked about the excuses she made when she wore the casts. She even referenced birthday parties and friendly gatherings where these excuses–these lies–were told.
They were yelling at each other–oh man, were they yelling.
I woke up in the middle of it and tried to figure out what was going on. But at eight or nine or ten, I knew better. So I continued to pretend to sleep. And I concentrated on not moving a muscle. And I focused so hard on keeping my eyes shut.
I was scared. I was confused as to why they would fight while I was over. I was confused why my friend didn’t wake up. I was confused that Mr. Thomspon had hit Mrs. Thompson.
I don’t remember how I fell back asleep that night. But I know that I did. I don’t remember when the Thompsons stopped arguing, but I know that they must have.
This incident happened over two decades ago and this is the first time that I have ever talked about the night I heard the Thompsons fighting.
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