I’m 11 years old and lying in bed. My eyes are wide open even though it’s completely dark in our room. My little brother is in his own bed next to mine. I want to call out to him to see if he’s awake too; but I’m afraid. I’m afraid because it’s Friday.

Friday is payday.

I hear His car pull in the driveway and I remind myself to shut my eyes.

Things might be different tonight. Maybe He’ll go right to bed.

I start thinking of my plan when I hear Him get out of the car. It sounds like He tripped over something but I can’t be sure. It doesn’t matter if He did or not…He’d think of something to be angry about. I made sure the driveway was clear and all the toys were picked up before we came up to bed, even though I know it’s never good enough.

“God DAMN…these fuckin’ kids!!!”

Here we go.

He’s in the house now. That’s my cue. I open my eyes and get out of bed. I reach under my mattress and get my jeans and a shirt that I had hid earlier. I don’t dare leave any clothes on the floor.

I can hear him coming up the steps. His voice starts off slow and deliberate, and then turns into a raw, burning rage. “How…many…times…do I HAVE TO TELL THEM?!!!!”

I look over at Allan. He’s fast asleep. I think about waking him, but it wouldn’t work. Allan is two years younger than me and I know I’m supposed to look out for him, but I’ve already made up my mind. I open the closet door and hide behind the clothes, making sure to close the door behind me as quietly as I can.

“WHICH ONE OF YOU KIDS WAS RIDING YOUR BIKE ON THE LAWN? I CAN SEE TIRE TRACKS ALL OVER THE GOD DAMN PLACE!!!”

I hear Him reach for his belt and start swinging. He’s so drunk that he doesn’t even notice that I’m not in bed. I hear Allan start to cry; trying his best to say he’s sorry. I pretend that we can talk to each other mentally.

Stay down…whatever you do, don’t lift up your head.

He’s really in a rhythm now. With each swing of His belt I can almost see His jaw clenching to emphasize the important words. “How many TIMES… do I have to TELL… you kids to NOT… ride your BIKES… on the fuckin’ LAWN?”

Allan is howling. I start hugging myself and realize that I’m shaking. Tears start running down my cheeks like you wouldn’t believe, but no matter what…I’m not going to make a sound. I think that if there were a contest for the quietest crier, I’d win it hands down. At least I’d be good at something.

Finally, He drops the belt and slumbers off downstairs. His arm must have gotten tired.

I wait a few more minutes.

I’ve been tricked before.

When I hear the TV come on downstairs, I open the closet door and go to Allan. He still hasn’t found his voice. At this point, he’s crying so hard he can barely breath. I put my arm around him and pull him closer to me. Allan jerks away as if I’m the one that just beat the living crap out of him. I know at this point he’s just scared of everyone…including me.

I’m sorry. I should have stayed and let Him hit me too. Maybe He wouldn’t have hit you so hard if I was here. Maybe if I would have ran downstairs He would have left you alone.

We end up crying each other to sleep. I’m the older one. I’m suppose to know what to do. I wish Mom was still here.

The next morning it’s bright and sunny in our room. I open my eyes expecting to find Allan right next to me, but he’s gone. Already dressed, I walk downstairs. Both He and Allan are in the kitchen. Allan’s laughing and licking on an ice cream cone.

“Look what Daddy got me!” exclaims Allan.

He and I make eye contact. I try my best to stare Him down. He looks away first and then walks into the next room and turns on the TV.

I walk over to Allan and look at him. He doesn’t look too bad this time. Allan thinks I want some of his ice cream cone, so he turns away from me. He starts licking faster; he wants all of it for himself.

I don’t want any of your ice cream. You can have it all.

I’m sorry.

It should have been me too.