The Knock at The Door

by Diane Davis
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It was a very cold dark night and it had finally become quiet in our house. There was a knock at the door and my Mother slowly arose from the rocking chair she was sitting in and walked toward the door. I stood next to her holding on to her skirt as she opened the front door. There were two huge, burley men standing there, but my Mother knew them and said, “Come in Frank, you too Jimmy Ray”. “Millie, what’s going on? Is the Preacher Man at it again?” He slowly and gently lifted my Mother’s chin toward the light to see the slit in her lip and the swollen right eye. “Damn, Millie, when are you going to give up on him?” “He’s my husband, but this time he’s gone too far. This time, I’ve had enough, she said, I want you to take him out of this house”. “You OK son”, Frank asked, as he looked down at me? “Yes sir.” My Mother walked toward the front bedroom where my baby sister was sleeping. Beth wasn’t asleep though. She was standing in her crib reaching out for someone to pick her up. Frank was the first to the crib and lifted her out. “What a beautiful child, what a nice little boy, what a jerk of a husband. Does he have any idea what he is going to be losing?

“OK, where is he?” “I’ll show you,” I said, as I led them to the back bedroom. There he was, the Preacher man as the two policemen called him…..I called him Daddy. He was passed out across the bed with the bottle of Bourbon still dangling from his right hand. The policemen each took an arm and lifted him off the bed. “What’s going on here?” he slurred. “You have no business in my house! Millie, what have you done, are you crazy? Son, talk to your Mother. Where are you taking me Jimmy Ray?” My Mother put an arm around me and held my sister as we walked behind the threesome out onto the porch and then into the cold night. We stood on the sidewalk and watched the policemen handcuff my Daddy and put him into the back of the black Ford cruiser. I can’t ever remember being so cold. My Mother said, “No sirens please, and no flashing lights. I want this kept as quiet as possible, please.” “Anything for you Millie…..sit tight, we’ll be back shortly for you and the kids. Do you know where you are going?” “Don’t worry,” she said, “the children and I are going to be fine.”

My Mother was very calm as she gathered our belongings. Sissy sat in the middle of the floor and played with her toys, as I tried to help Mother. My Mother said to me, “You are the man of the house now.” But I didn’t want to be the man of the house. I was only seven years old. I just wanted to be me and I wanted us all to be safe.

The patrol car was back in just a few minutes and began to help us gather things together. The policemen said I could ride in the front; but I wanted to ride in the back and take care of my Mother and little sister. They needed me. Frank and Jimmy Ray seemed to know where they were taking us and never really asked my Mother, as we all sat silently in the back seat. We pulled up in front of the little white mill village house, certainly not big enough to accommodate three more people. But it was warm and safe and we were a family. My grandmother and my granddad were standing on the front porch in their pajamas. I was happy to be with them. I loved my grandparents and I loved to be at their house. My grandmother cried when she saw my Mother and kept repeating, “I told you this was going to happen, I knew it was coming. I’m just glad you are home where you belong.” My granddad was the strong silent type and didn’t talk much. He just loved you, and you knew it. He picked up me and my sister, gave us a hug and took us inside.

We never went back to that little white house on Friendly Street, and we never went back to my Dad.

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