The Battle of Two Families: The Redneck Revengeance

Carrying on from my last post, my home is now a battlezone

Cary is bleeding from the head, I've ushered in my niece and younger sister who are both sobbing and I'm trying to contain the redneck fury. THEN, and this is my favorite, Tammy comes charging up and tries to get into the room to, and I quote, "Kick our asses." Dad basically slammed the door on her hand while I held my battle-ready sword at the ready.

Throughout, I'm emotionally shut down and oddly stoic. Everyone else is either cussing, crying, screaming their heads off or ready to throw down. David packs up his family with that defeated sigh I am sure I will have at his age. The younger of the two girls comes to the door that leads out into the back yard and waves me over. I start to proceed over, having called the ambulance already, and Cary and Kim shout, "Don't talk to that little bitch!"

That girl was eleven years old at the time.

My veins ran cold. I whipped around and told them, "You do not call a child a bitch."

Now, I'M the enemy. I'm being yelled at that I'm so immature, I don't know what I'm talking about. I walk out to her and the eleven year old -- the ELEVEN YEAR OLD -- is screaming at them over me like we're on the godamned Jerry Springer show and someone got proved to be the father.

So, I tell her to calm down. She gets in my face and tells me I can't tell her what to do.

I remember hissing, "I am telling you what to do."

Maybe I was scary in my pink pajama bottoms, but she shut up. Then she started sobbing and begging me not to call the police on her mother because she's on parole and her daddy is in jail and just oh my fuck. 

I explain that I had to call the ambulance due to Cary's wound, and that she should go get in the car with her family to be safe. Soon after, they rolled out and left.

I go back inside to Cary and Kim STILL yelling at me. Dad comes barreling out and, having the temperament of a bear who got poked with a live cobra. He yells at everyone to shut up, Cary and Kim are screaming I'm immature and I answer, "At least I don't call an eleven year old a bitch."

Once again, we're all told to shut up, so out I go to sit on the curb in my pink pajama bottoms and wait for the cops.

Happy Fourth of July.