My most painful childhood memory, part 2

I don't have much recollection of the conversation that occurred in the car immediately after dropping my aunt off at her home. I just remember that it started off angrily but calmly. The term "conversation" is a bit misleading because my mom hardly said a word; it was my stepfather who did all of the talking. He would make a snide remark here, a disapproving statement there. For 20 minutes, the argument was very constrained, that is until our vehicle stopped at the light of a busy intersection. It was there that my stepfather decided to let loose.

There were 3 lanes of traffic going in each direction of the intersection. Our vehicle was in the middle of the westbound lane, which means we were hemmed in by cars in front of us, behind us and on the side. By this time, my stepfather's one-sided conversation had gone from occasional nasty comments to an angry rant. My mother's continued silence seemed to bring confusion as to whether his points were getting across so he began to accentuate his statements with violence.

Right in the midst of talking, in front of God and everyone who had stopped at that intersection, my stepfather lifted the back of his hand and smacked it across the side of my mother's face. The first hit not only caught my mom by surprise but it had damaged her ear drums as well. She immediately placed her hands over her ears to protect them and to stop the intense ringing. My stepfather, undeterred by any injury he may have caused, continued to hit my mother again and again.

From the backseat, I began to scream and cry hysterically, partially because my mother was being hurt and partially because I was incredibly embarrassed. With each slap, I scooted farther and farther down in my seat until my head could no longer be seen through the car window and I was almost on the floorboard. I reasoned that if I could not be seen then this couldn't be happening.

The violence continued when we got home but the tool changed. Once home, my stepfather began beating my mother with a belt while he chastised her for actions like she was some misbehaving child. I watched in horror as my mother quietly fought off the punishment with her hands. Eventually, I decided to put a halt to this situation before an ambulance needed to be called.

I ran to the kitchen and called the only person I knew who possessed enough righteous indignation to get involved in such a messy situation -- my grandmother. She lived less than 3 minutes away and I knew she would put a stop to this nonsense immediately. In my hysteria, I managed to confuse my elderly grandmother and by the end of our conversation, she thought that I was the one being abused. It didn't matter because my call had the effect I had intended -- it made my grandmother mad as hell. She sent my uncle over to settle things down and to make sure that my mom and I were okay.

Once the incident was over and the dust had settled, my stepfather somehow convinced my mother that he was really, really sorry and that he would never do such a horrible thing again. He even apologized to me for behaving so poorly. Unlike my mother, I was not so easily swayed. His apology fell on deaf ears. All I could think about was how my mother was violently beaten for making such a personal and admirable decision. She didn't deserve that sort of treatment and I decided at the time that he didn't deserve my forgiveness.