all that cant be said

BREAKING UP
Mrs. James consoled me in her gentle voice. She told me that everything would be alright. She also explained something about fighting to me, but I was all too distracted to understand what she said. It had been going on for days.

Every night, Mummy would tuck me into bed, giving me a warm hug and a good night kiss. I would close my eyes and snuggle up to Mr Teddy under my blanket. As she closed the door, I would open my eyes and wait. Daddy would come in and sit himself on the red cushioned chair in the corner. Whenever he looked at me I would close my eyes. The last time, when I spoke to Daddy, Mummy hit me, so I was too afraid to make a sound. Daddy would sulk in the corner, occasionally looking up at me, with tears welling in his eyes. After about five minutes, Mummy would gingerly open the door and give Daddy a hard stare. Recognising his cue, he would walk up to me and give me a kiss on my forehead. Sometimes his salty teardrops reach me too. Then he would turn and leave the room, with Mummy following close behind.

I was terribly confused. Mummy told me Daddy was working in London. If that was the case then how was it possible he comes to visit me every night? I wondered if she was lying to me. Once, Mummy mentioned something about leaving and moving. But I could not understand. School was so much fun. Mrs. James taught the class art and we learn how to make paper dolls out of origami paper. I always had fun at school, until it came the time for dismissal. Going home only meant more uncertainty. It would remind me of how much I missed Daddy and of all the times Mummy hit me because I could not answer her questions.

One Tuesday Mummy hit me again. The more I cried the more she would hit me. So I held back the tears and shut my eyes tightly. I had thoughts that I knew were bad, thoughts of running away with Mr Teddy, of venting my frustration on classmates and of talking to Daddy at night. But that day I knew why she hit me. Jimmy was tugging at my shirt and demanding a quarter from me. So I hit him, the way Mummy did to me.

"Tommy is only five and displays two very different characteristics. He throws tantrums and is disruptive in class, yet at other times he keeps to himself. Normal children his age are experimenting values such as friendship and usually get along with other children very well," Mrs. James spoke to Mummy in the classroom, while I peered through the gap between the almost closed door and the doorframe from the outside.

I sat back down on the floor under the huge poster plastered on the wall, which read " Know When Your Kids Are Troubled". I clenched my fist and punched the wall in anger. Mrs. James always said to close my eyes and count slowly to ten whenever I was angry. So I did just that and felt much better after. Covering my ears with my palms I started singing "Bob the Builder". Then all of a sudden I lost track of what I was angry about.
Mummy walked out of the classroom and I greeted her with a huge smile, showing as much teeth as I could. Then she reached down and hit me. Again and again. Until Mrs. James stopped her. I stood there, accustomed to the pain, it had already become a habit not to cry.

That day was also the first time I saw Daddy sitting down on the sofa in the living room in almost three months. As Mummy fumbled for the key to lock the door behind us, I ran up to Daddy’s opened arms. The feeling was long forgotten. Then Mummy grabbed hold of my arm like a vice and pulled me away from him. Right there in front of me, she hurled expletives at him. Stretching out her right hand, she struck Daddy on his left cheek with her palm, the shrill sound of it echoing in my head.

What was going on? I had not been able to speak to or even touch Daddy for so long. Now that I was able to, Mummy pulled me away and hit him like she did to me. I closed my eyes and counted to ten as a streak of fury dashed in my blood.

Mummy shouted. The words "separation" and "moving" were mentioned again. I did not understand and still do not. I love Mummy. I love Daddy. Mummy loves Daddy. Daddy loves Mummy. Mummy and Daddy love Tommy. They quarreled. I stood at the corner of the room, looking on in confusion, hurt and anger.
The next day when I reached school, I talked to Mrs. James.

"Why are they quarreling?" I asked curiously.

"Tommy, your parents are getting a divorce. Do you know what that is?"

I shook my head.

"Well, it’s when a married couple decides to stop being married. So they live in different houses and not together anymore." Mrs. James patiently explained.

It all started to make some sense. Maybe the reason why Daddy only came only at night was because Mummy did not want him to come into her house. After all in a divorce they would live in different houses. But why did she pull me away from Daddy? Up till now I still have yet to uncover that mystery.

Three days later on Friday, I woke up to a rainy morning. Daddy was sitting on the bed next to me. Normally Mummy would be the one who greeted me in the morning. A trial of blood extended from the outside of the room, through the open doorway and into the room, all the way to Daddy’s feet. I looked up at Daddy. His long-sleeved dark green shirt was drenched in sweat, obvious from the regions of darker green. Lifting up his right hand, he used the back of his palm to wipe off the damp mess of sweat and tears. Yes, he was crying. But what surprised me even more was what he was holding, clutched in between his fingers and thumb. It was a gun. Daddy took his other hand and patted me on the head, then stroked my face lovingly. He lifted the gun up and shot. I closed my eyes.

So here I lie in a hospital bed. Mrs. James comes everyday and accompanies me for a large portion of the day. Mummy and Daddy have not come in the entire month I have been staying in the hospital. Mrs. James told me Mummy and Daddy have both gone to a better place, somewhere not on this earth. I do not remember anything about them leaving though. I just hope I will get to see them again.