Liza's Song

At midnight most children are fast asleep, the comforts of a sweet dream enveloping them until the morning sun rises and wakes them. At midnight, if a child is up, it isn’t for long. Merely long enough to yawn, check the time, turn over, and drift back off, maybe long enough for a potty break. But most kids aren’t Liza. Most kids don’t have parents who either spend their night sexing, those sounds of love leaking through her walls, or worse, fighting, the crashing sound of glass stabbing her ears. Liza’s parents were bipolar in her opinion. They didn’t know what they wanted to do. One minute they loved each other, the next they’re signing divorce papers. Legally they divorced three years prior, when Liza was nine, but that was only on paper.

            This particular night they were at each other’s throats because Liza’s father had gone out drinking and stayed too long. It didn’t matter that the path he walked was something like that a snake slithered down. No, what Liza’s mother cared about was the fact that he was gone so long he could’ve easily been with another woman. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and her mother was sure that the last time wasn’t actually the last time.

            Liza lay with her hands behind her head staring at the glowing stars on her ceiling. She tried to block out the constant stream of curses that left her mothers mouth, and the slurred words that slipped out of her father’s like slob. Instead she focused on a melody that she’d developed on her keyboard earlier that day. It contained many flats to produce a somber melancholy tune, one that matched her daily mood. However, when she heard a loud thud against the wall, she realized she’d never get that melody out of her head unless she played it out. So she stepped out of bed, her feet nearly frozen by the coolness of the wooden floor. With each slow, careful step she felt her heart pounding something like the pounding from the other room, though she couldn’t be sure of what that was. She took a seat in front of her keyboard and ran her skinny pale fingers over the keys. She placed the thumb of her right hand on middle C, sighed, and pressed the note below it.

            You’re hurting me, Carl. All you ever do is hurt me. Her mother’s voice was faint. It was no longer loud and angry, no longer held a raspy growl. It was weak, gentle, fading.

            Liza closed her eyes then found the position for her left hand. She played the D₇ chord then continued her somber melody. In her mind she pictured the night sky, a deep velvet with tiny diamonds and a gigantic stone shining down on the lost ones of the world like her parents, like herself. That little piece of heavenly peace was unreachable until death did every miserable person part from the world. She imagined her mother in the other room, back pressed against the tawny wall, her tiny hands around her father’s thick wrist, that meaningless diamond in her wedding ring reflecting their every move. She imagined the darkness of her father’s eyes, the quivering of his lips, clenching of his teeth. He’d hold her until her grip loosened, and when it was almost nonexistent, he would release her to pool on the wooden floor. Slowly like an inflatable doll she’d come back to life, rub her neck, walk around him, and lie in the bed. He’d come to her, kiss the red bruises, tell her I love you and I apologize.

            Not once would their minds go to Liza in the other room. Not once would anyone come to see if she was alright. No one calmed her fear, no one wiped her eyes. No one even had the decency to peep into her room to see if she’d awaken. So as Liza played her song, not once did she stop to peep out of her door to see if everything was okay, not once did she think to dial 911 and call for help, not once did she even make a mistake on her keyboard as her father called her mother’s name and cursed under his breath.

            Shit, shit, Carol wake up. Wake up damn it! Fuck.Carol…baby…Carol…

            Liza’s song wasn’t long, but she played it as if it were on a paper filled with repeats. Her song didn’t end until she felt a tap on her shoulder, and saw two men in blue standing over her. She took her hands off the keyboard and wrapped her arms around her bare legs. All she had on were her panties, not jama pants. They brought coldness into her room. The outside had entered. They talked, she didn’t listen. She saw her father in handcuffs pass her room. His head was down, his walk slow, shamed. Never once did he look at her. Liza sighed, ignored the officers and went back to her song. The officers looked at one another but didn’t say a word. As Liza began to hum, her mother’s body was rolled through, a sheet covering her frame. Liza never looked her way. She simply closed her eyes and hummed along to her tune.