Dread in the Night

         The silence chews through my ears.  My fingers twitch with anxiety.  Why is sleep suddenly so hard to find?  Nothing touches my ears, but I imagine a door opening, boots sneaking down the hall, a pen scribbling a note, a piece of paper slipping under my door, and the front door opening and closing.  He is gone.  My father…gone. 
         None of that ever happened, at least not yet.  Even when my eyelids finally drop, my mind still wanders.  I see him holding a beer bottle.  It tips back and his eyes widen as my mother strides through the doorway.  Drunkenly, he begins to talk to her.  I can’t understand what he’s saying.  His voice grows harsher.  He begins to hit her.  My ears strain as a horrific scream collides head on with their eardrums.  I am suddenly conscious of my body, my sweaty body, sitting straight up in my bed.  Again, there is only silence. 
         Each night, ever since my brother told me about my dad’s drinking problem, this has been the average night.  Each morning, my mother comments on the bags under my eyes.  All I can say is, “I don’t know.”