When I was younger, I was extremely oblivious. Some may find that strange, as currently many of my teachers would describe me as astute. I was a very different person back then.

One afternoon, when I was seven or eight, I was watching my brother, Sam, play Super Mario. Technically, he was my half-brother, but our dad didn’t like when we referred to each other as anything besides “my brother”, or “my sister”. He didn’t believe in any ‘step’ or ‘half’ prefixes. I didn’t complain. I didn’t understand it, anyway.

Usually, Sam didn’t mind me watching. We were eight years apart, so our maturity levels were always distinct enough that we never really fought. I was usually quiet, even encouraging- unless he lost, then I’d just laugh at him. This specific time, he had yet to lose a life, and I was urging him to continue on to the next level.

“C’mon! Click it!” I clamored. Sam held up the hand that wasn’t holding his controller to hush me. He lowered the volume on the game and tilted his head towards the doorway. Now curious, I too did the same. Through the open door and down the hallway, we could hear our dad fighting with my mom in the kitchen. I couldn’t tell you what the argument was about. In hindsight, my parents were always fighting. Bills, schedules, the smell of smoke clinging to his jackets or the smell of something bitter on his breath… anything and everything, really.

Whatever it was, Sam didn’t find any interest in it. He rolled his eyes and pressed play. I guess he was used to his parents fighting, but I wasn’t as quick to move on.

“What are they talking about?” I asked, my eyes not leaving the doorway. I tried to hear over the upbeat soundtrack of Mario. It didn’t work.

“Nothing, they’re just arguing.” he muttered.

“Arguing? Why?”

Sam pressed the buttons on his controller a little harder than necessary. “Bean, I told you it’s nothing.”

I frowned. Sam only called me ‘Bean’ when he was worried I was upset. I stood up and thundered into the kitchen, ignoring my brother’s calls behind me. I stood in the doorway and pouted at my parents, who had now stopped their squabble to consider me with confused gazes. My father quirked an eyebrow.

“Why are you fighting?” I demanded. They looked at eachother, and then at me.

“We’re not fighting, sweetheart. We’re just having a disagreement.” My mother tried to satiate me. I looked at my dad. He decided to stay quiet, which was probably the right decision considering how tense my mother’s shoulders were. I shrugged.

“‘Mkay.”

When I got back to the living room, my brother was on the next level.

“I’m staying at my mom’s tonight, Bean.” Sam said.

“‘Mkay.”

~

The night that it happened, I was still very oblivious. Not as much as before- I had begun to notice that some girls who called each other their ‘bestfriend’ didn’t really like each other at all, and sometimes the kids we left out of our games seemed happier to be alone. But I didn’t notice how my dad stayed out later and later each night, or how he ‘fell asleep’ on the couch a lot more frequently.

It started at my friend’s house. Juliette and I were at her house, working on an eighth grade history project. Our subject was the Dont Ask, Don’t Tell policy, and after Juliette’s ingenious idea of a rainbow border, I suggested using special scissors to make the borders of our paragraphs look cooler. When Juliette agreed, I called my mother.

“Hello?”

“Hey mom, can you bring over the special shape scissors for our project?”

My mother sighed. “Sweetheart, it’s late. Shouldn’t you be wrapping up?”

“Mom, come on! Please? We need them!” I whined. I wasn’t usually much of a whiner, but I didn’t understand why my mother was being so difficult. She sighed again.

“I’ll be over in ten.”

“Thank you, love you, bye!”

Juliette and I finished our poster in about an hour, and soon I was back in the car with my mom. She was quiet. I thought she was upset with me for having her bring the scissors, so I didn’t say anything.

When I got home, she handed me the remote to the television.

“I got some ice cream today at the store. Want some?” she asked. Just like how my brother only called me ‘Bean’ in rare cases, my mother scarcely let me control the TV and eat junk food when I was mad at her. I was confused, because I thought that she was mad at me. Still, I was twelve, and in no position to pass up on that offer.

“Okay, thanks!”

About an hour late, halfway into some new superhero movie, my dad came through the door. I muttered an unfocused ‘hi’. I was too preoccupied with the screen to notice that my mother neglected any sign of acknowledgement.

When my dad passed through the living room and headed upstairs, I didn’t think anything of it. He worked long days, and often went to bed as soon as he got home. When he came back down twenty minutes later, it was still nothing out of the ordinary. Sometimes he ate before sleeping. When I noticed that he was standing rock still next to me, and that my mother had suddenly gone ever more tense, I paused the movie.

“What?” I demanded. They looked at eachother, and then at me.

“Sweetheart, your dad isn’t going to be living with us any longer.”

What? My first thought was prison. My dad must have done something stupid and now he was going to jail. I could live with that. My next thought was business. My dad sometimes travelled for work. Maybe he had an assignment somewhere. I could live with that. Then I realized my parents were separating.

Oh.

But that couldn’t be right. Divorce happens in movies. Divorce happens to the kid across the street. Divorce happens to my classmates. Divorce wasn’t supposed to happen to me. It couldn’t happen to me.

That only happened when your parents were always fighting, like how mom and dad were yelling at each other yesterday, or the day before that, or a few days before… oh. But, divorce only happened to parents who didn’t love each other- I had just heard my parents tell eachother they loved each other last week… or maybe the week before that? Nevermind- divorce only happened to parents who didn’t care about their kids anymore, like how we never see Sam. But my dad spends a lot of time with me. We went to the carnival a few months ago. He sat next to me and watched a movie just last week, or, maybe that was my mom?

I realized they were both looking at me.

“‘Mkay.”

Then my dad walked out the door. That night, I cried for a minute or so, because I felt like it was appropriate. My world had just been ripped to shreds in like, what, five minutes? So I shed a few tears and asked my mom if I could resume my movie.

~

I saw my dad two weeks later. He had a haircut. He said he’d been living with a friend. He smelled like perfume. There was a carseat in the trunk. He took me out to breakfast and we had a talk. I guess that was to be expected.

“Hey, kid.”

“Hi.”

My dad breathed through his nose and avoided my eyes.

“Look, kid, you’re not stupid. I know you saw this coming.”

I felt stupid. I wasn’t in the mood to voice this thought.

“Yeah.” I said. My dad sighed.

We finished breakfast in silence and got back into the car. I figured we might have been going to see a movie. That was my dad’s favorite bonding activity. We didn’t have to talk. Or look at eachother. We passed the theater.

When my dad pulled into an unfamiliar driveway, I guessed we were visiting his “friend”. I may have been stupid but I wasn’t totally dumb. We walked into the living room. There was a little boy, who I assumed the car seat belonged to. There was a teenage girl, staring at her phone. She didn’t acknowledge me. I didn’t blame her. And there was a woman who smelled like the perfume that stuck to my dad’s collar.

I had already gone though one life-changing ordeal. Honestly, I think I was still in shock from it. Maybe that’s why I agreed to keep our meeting secret from my mother.

When I got back home, my mom was crying. I didn’t join.

~

The days started to blend together, and soon enough I was spending Sunday’s at my dad’s house. Well- my dad and Amy. That was her name.

One afternoon, I was watching my brother, Chase, play Mario Kart. Technically, he was my step-brother, but our dad didn’t like when we referred to each other as anything besides “my brother”, or “my sister”. He didn’t believe in any ‘step’ or ‘half’ prefixes. I didn’t complain. I didn’t care much, anyway.

Usually, Chase didn’t mind me watching. We were eight years apart, so our maturity levels were always distinct enough that we never really fought. I was usually quiet, even encouraging- unless he lost, then I’d comfort him. He’d yet to lose a life, and I was urging him on.

“‘Ya gonna click it?” I asked. Chase furled his eyebrows.

“Do you hear that?” He lowered the volume on the game and tilted his head towards the doorway. Now curious, I too did the same.

Through the open door and up the stairs, we could hear my dad fighting with his mom in the bedroom. I couldn’t tell you what the argument was about. Whatever it was, I didn’t find any interest in it. I rolled my eyes and pressed play on Chase’s controller. He was not as quick to move on.

“What are they talking about?” He asked, my eyes not leaving the doorway. “Nothing, they’re just arguing.” I was reassured.

“Arguing? Why?” Uh oh.

I flicked at his fingers that were toying with the controls in efforts to distract him. “Chase, I told you it’s nothing.”

He frowned. He frowned and stood up, moving towards the stairs. Curious myself, I followed. I stood in the doorway while Chase pouted at Amy and my dad, who had now stopped their squabble to consider us with confused gazes. My father quirked an eyebrow.

“Why are you fighting?” Chase asked. They looked at eachother, and then at me. I shrugged.

“We’re not fighting, sweetheart. We’re just having a disagreement.” Amy answered tensely. I looked at my dad. He decided to stay quiet, which probably wasn’t the right decision, considering how Amy jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

“Yep,” he said. “Just talking things out.”

“‘Mkay.” was all the answer Chase gave. I followed him out of the room.

When we got back to the living room, Chase moved onto the next level.

“I’m staying at my mom’s tonight.” I said.

“‘Mkay.”

~

It’s been a little over two and a half years, and my parents still aren’t technically divorced. Even in seperation, they’re still always fighting. At my mom’s, we don’t talk about dad. At my dad’s, all they seem to do is talk about mom. I hate it.

Still, it’s a good thing they’re not together. Maybe one day my parents really were in love. Maybe one day, they didn’t force eachother to sleep in the same bed as not to scare their daughter. But I don’t think they’ve loved each other for a very long time.

My parents’ separation helped me grow a lot. I’m not stupid, and I realize I never was. I knew my parents didn’t love each other. I just didn’t want to face it. It’s easier to pretend that mommy and daddy love each other than consider the fact that one day the last straw will break, and everything will change. I’m not as oblivious anymore. Not as ignorant. I’ve learned that change hurts. But change, as much as it burns, is good.

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