Gymnastics

“I’m home,” I shout into the kitchen, back from school, as the cracked glass breezeway door slams shut behind me. I kicked it out of anger the other day and my dad repaired it with some Tyvek.

Nothing.

“Hello?” This can’t be good.

I find her passed out in her “bedroom,” the likes of which is buried in trash. The door barely opens because it’s so filled with debris on the ground. She’s laying on the heap, face down. Her twin-sized bed—1/2 of the bunkbeds we deconstructed—is barely visible among all the trash. A moan lets out of someone awakening. I slam the door shut immediately. Where are the twins? My mind goes into panic mode.

I find the girls upstairs in their shared room, huddled in the corner. They’re only 6 years old at the time. “It’s going to be okay,” I tell them, even though I don’t believe it myself.

“GIRLS, time to get in the CAR,” I hear from downstairs. I forgot, the twins have gymnastics at 3pm.

I look into her eyes, crazed but glossed over at the same time. She mixed her prescription medication with the wine again.

Hide the keys, I think to myself. I try to take the keys out of her hands—she grabs a kitchen knife and points it at my gut. Great, like this isn’t going to cause some trauma. I didn’t have my license yet, so I couldn’t drive the twins myself.

My mom stumbles into the car with the twins in tow. I call my grandparents, my dad, our family friend who is a cop. “Mom’s drunk and she’s driving the twins to gymnastics, I don’t know what to do.” The same response over and over again: do nothing.

I couldn’t think about what would happen if the twins were hurt and I didn’t try to stop it. My mom and the girls were well on their way to gymnastics at this point. So, at 16, I picked up the phone and dialed 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Yes, my mom is drunk driving my little sisters. I don’t know what to do.” My voice quivers on the phone, a cry cracking through.

The police follow my mom into the parking lot of Yellowjackets gymnastics in Middleton. Apparently, she was swerving all over the road and her BAC was well over the legal limit. Right there, in front of the 6-year-old twins and their friends at gymnastics, my mom gets arrested for drunk driving and child endangerment.

My whole family was mad at me for years for calling the cops. I thought I did the right thing.