Normal
by Yilin S., 14

I was four.
Maybe.

We were in Japan,
in a hotel room
with the lights on too late.

My sister and my dad
went to the convenience store
and came back with a bag of snacks
crackers, chips, a bag of candy
I remember the sound of plastic when it moves

I remember the bag.

I remember digging through it
Looking for something sweet
I think I found something that tasted like grapes

My parents were talking.
I didn’t really listen.
Couldn’t care less.

Then my sister screamed.

I looked up
and my dad had my mom
pushed against the wall,
his arm around her neck,
his fist hitting her.

I didn’t understand it
Didn’t have time to comprehend
Maybe because I was a four year old
But I knew it was wrong,

I cried.
My five-year-old sister put her hands over my ears
so I wouldn’t hear.
Baba, ting! Bu yao da mama le.
(Dad, stop! Stop hitting mom.)

The next morning
I went looking for my mom.
I wasn’t too worried for her
What was terrible was
Normal 

I wanted her
to braid my hair
like Princess Anna.

But she was in bed.

She looked tired
in a way that scared me.

When she spoke
her voice sounded like a broken vase.

She told me
“Mommy’s tired,
I’m sorry baby,
Do you mind leaving the room?
Mommy wants to rest.”

With a heavy heart at the ripe age of four years old,
I left the room
And started crying in the hallway.

My aunt found me there
and told me
Mom was just sick.

But even when I was four
I knew

being sick
doesn’t look like that.