CRACKED (Excerpt 8) by Keri Lock

“All I’m saying is if she had tried a little harder to keep him happy; fixed herself up, put away the booze, who knows? Things might be different. She never tried to make him stay.”
Venom spewed forth from my lips, “You know NOTHING! You are nothing but a stupid, senile, old hag! Get out of my room!”
“Missy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it”.
“GET!” I leaped from the bed and shoved at her with flailing arms.
Speechless, she limped from the room, me slamming the door behind her.
I stood there, stunned. An invisible energy raced down my limbs, sapping every ounce of strength.
My knees buckled.
With a thump, I collapsed to the floor, staring at the ceiling above. Beams of light shone though the window and danced a musical game on the wall.
He was gone.
Again.

Cracked by Keri Lock (Excerpt 7)

We stood quietly, stunned. This was a first. The man was snoring, face down, body balanced on a huge belly, dimpled buttock slightly raised. The pale flesh of his middle lay in thick folds, scarred with angry, red lines. His bulk looked oddly misshapen, almost inhuman. Curious, I leaned forward, peeking over one massive shoulder to his face.
“Stop!” Michele whispered, “Don’t get any closer! He might wake up.”
“Who is he?” I asked, ignoring her request. Inching closer, I inspected the side of his pudgy face. Red cheeks swollen, hair matted with sweat, he emitted a low guttural snort, like a pig. Reflexively, I jumped back. It was the noise that had frightened me in the dark.
“Mom’s new boyfriend?” Michele guessed, curiosity, overpowering caution. She stepped closer.
“What about Joey?” I asked, glancing at her. My sister had never liked our mother’s on-again, off-again boyfriend.
“Maybe he’s out of the picture” in a hopeful voice “but I guess this isn’t any better” she motioned towards the stranger. We stared, fascinated by his mass.
As we looked, the enormous man turned his head and vomited violently onto the yellow shag of the carpet. The churned mess slowly spread, soaking the flooring with flakes of brown waste. The putrid stench of soured milk and bile filled my nostrils making me gag convulsively. I ran from the room. Michele followed me to the bathroom, wiping my face with a wet cloth when I was through being sick.

Cracked (Excerpt 6)

The air was stifling. Summoning every bit of courage in my seven-year-old body, I inched my fingers along the satin edging of the blanket, widening a tiny opening. Unsullied air wafted in and I gulped it greedily, louder than I intended.
A disturbing snivel exploded somewhere in the room, followed by a series of retching noises. Under the quilt, my body trembled and acted of its own accord. The scream emerged soundless, impeded by my suffocating circumstance.
Frenzied clawing released me from my cotton cavern. I gasped. Inhaling powerfully, sound exploded from my mouth, the volume reverberating in my ears.
“MOMMY! MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY!” my screams continued, one uninterrupted sequence.

Cracked (Excerpt 5)

His rough grip left a bruise. I noticed it forming as I ripped my arm from his hold. Frantically, I slapped out, my palms stinging as they met the boney part of his shoulder. Being several inches shorter and many pounds lighter, it was the only area of his body I could reach. Sobbing at my own vulnerability, I turned to flee.
He laughed, grabbing onto both my hands with his one and stilling them in his vise-like grip. Stepping forward, he pushed me back onto the black velour of the sofa, my back bent in an impossible position. I sank down, head tilted painfully to one side; neck feeling as though it would break.


Trying to wriggle free, I managed to become even more entangled in the fabric of the sofa and my own body. My shirt inched up, exposing my, still tan, belly. Brutally, he plowed his knee into my soft flesh, holding it there, as I struggled for air. Breathing raggedly now, I struggled against his entrapment and the control he had over me. Frustration, as I realized I was, once again, powerless.

Life like Clay....

The molding of a life, not a map or a plan. Life, really has no map that we can follow. We can hope and work but so much is guided by the people we become because of things that happened to us long before we were in control; the people we encounter, the experiences we have, the traumas we endure. Each marks us, molds us, adds this detail or that. Each little bit of a personality becoming stronger or weaker, each character trait developing based on our interactions with others, either selfish or selfless. We never really recognize this until forced to, sometimes slapped in the face with it. Some unexpected event or dramatic conversation acts as a wake-up call. Until then, we never really know ourselves. We just act as the person we think we should be, or hope to be, always wondering why we are never truly filled up inside. The recognition that we never really accepted ourselves makes it clearer why others, maybe, don't accept us either. Every flaw magnified, each mistake enlarged, dramatized. Understanding that we don't develop who we are, but that other people do, is like the death of a loved one. Deny, accept, mourn, heal. Then be who we are meant to be, love ourselves, be happy, enjoy life. Screw up sometimes and don't feel too bad. From this day forward, we are who we want to be.

Novel

Renee’s parents had been shocked when she told them she was leaving Greg. She’d never mentioned a word to them about their problems, trying to protect them from the unpleasant knowledge of their daughter’s failures as a wife and the reality that their son-in-law was a jackass. Though they weren’t Catholics like Greg’s parents, divorce was still rare among their circle. Initially, they’d worked to talk her out of the divorce, even tried to persuade her to seek counseling. That had been Greg’s doing.

Somehow, he’d convinced her parents that she’d become a different person. A selfish, jealous, unhappy wife and mother. Of course he’d blamed their problems on her. He tried to tell them she had been abusing drugs and even needed to be rehabbed. Renee had been furious when she realized the lies Greg had told about her. She’d known he was desperate to hang on but hadn’t thought he’d sink so low. It had taken all her powers of persuasion to convince her parents that Greg had been lying to everyone.
“Mother, how could you take his side over mine? You are MY mother!”
“Renee, we just want what’s best for you and the girls. We love you and Greg and Missy and Michele. Let us help you!” her mother had cried tearfully. Her father stared at the floor, unable or unwilling to participate in the conversation. Renee felt his shame and rage washed over her.
“Daddy, you believe all those lies? You honestly think I am lying to you?” she called to him, intentionally drawing him into the fray.
“I don’t know what to believe, Renee. Nothing is what we thought it was. You aren’t the person we used to know”, quietly, slowly, painfully. He wouldn’t meet her eyes and she stood, glaring angrily at him.
“Daddy, please. I need you. I can’t do this without you. Think of the girls. Daddy, look at me!” intentionally standing directly in front of him so he had to turn his head away to avoid her gaze.
“Renee, maybe just for a while. Go to that hospital and they will make you better. It won’t take long. We’ll take the girls until you are home” her mother had pleaded, agony in her voice.
Ignoring her mother, Renee gently reached up and turned her father’s face towards her “Daddy. Please. I am your only child. Your daughter. Your baby. I am in trouble and I need you. Please believe me” speaking softly and only to him. Her mother sobbed uncontrollably from across the room.
“You promise me? They are all lies? The drugs, the tantrums, the other men? All those stories he told us are lies?” he questioned, finally looking deeply into her eyes.
She met his stare and held it “Yes Daddy. I promise. I need you to believe me”.
“I do, Renee, I do” hugging her tightly. Her mother walked over to them and encircled them both with her arms. Renee still felt hurt when she remembered that afternoon. Something had changed between her and her parents that day, something that would never be the same again.

Novel

Novel by Keri Lock
(No part of this may be reproduced without the express permission of the author)
November 1978
Standing at the counter in the upstairs bathroom, she could hear the girls arguing in the kitchen. Sighing, she swiped at the tears stinging her eyes. “How am I supposed to do this on my own?” she whispered to her reflection in the mirror.

She felt old. She looked old. The lime colored paint on the wall behind caused her complexion to appear green. She turned away from her image, angry, a wave of nausea rolling over her. It had only been two months since the divorce was finalized and the exhaustion was overwhelming. Trying to be all things to her daughters was taking every ounce of energy she had. Work all day, pick the girls up, make dinner, help with homework, put the girls to bed, laundry, cleaning, packing lunches and into bed at midnight only to get up and do it again the next day, never a moment, not one, for herself.