MAKE HIM BREATHE

One AM, New Year’s Eve. I should be out drinking, getting high – playing the role of a normal teenager. But I’m in bed, listening to the incessant thump of neighbour’s music drift and bite at my nerves – so much for trying to switch off. The kids next door are always noisy, the kind that are boisterous, and borderline dangerous. So I assume it’s them when the yelling begins. I can’t distinguish actual words, but I recognize the tone of voice; frantic.

I roll over, unwilling to let the sound get to me – anyway, it sounds no different to their usual antics. I don’t know what goes on beyond the fence; their backyard isn’t included in my view. I’ve seen the mother, she wears those scarves wrapped around her head, and I especially notice how she wears the same outfit everyday. I’ve never seen the father – maybe there isn’t one. I close my eyes and exhale, but another bout of yelling forces them open once more.

I hear three consecutive yells of, 'DAD!’ The note is drawn out and it punctures the night. I jerk upright, so rigid that my limbs cramp slightly.  ‘One – two – three – four – five, breathe!" I strain my ears. They chant on, as if on a cycle. One – two – three – four – five, breathe!  

I’m starting to get sweaty. I can feel it in patches underneath my armpits. There’s a small slit of window which isn’t covered by the curtains, I use this to peer out. Nothing – silence, until…

‘MAKE HIM BREATHE!’

There’s screaming again, so loud that I can feel it reverberating across my eardrums, time and time again. Racking sobs echo – those heart wrenching sobs. My heart’s beating wildly in my chest. I fling off my covers, but by coincidence my mum wanders into the room, she carries a whimsical, tired expression. The TV paints my bedroom wall, reflecting flashing images. I realise that they’ve been watching a movie. I allow my heart to throb as I flop against my pillow and pull my blankets underneath my chin. I inhale and exhale.

It was nothing more than fiction.