Tonight my father was arrested.

In retrospect, they were both at fault. If either one had reacted to the situation with calmness and respect, it would not have escalated into what it has now become. I refuse to believe she asked for this, no matter how angry she may have been with him. I refuse to believe he would let himself lose control again if given the chance. But hindsight is always looked upon with the clarity of privileged knowledge--if hindsight was worth anything in this world, I would be the richest person on the planet.

The recited words of the officers drift around the room like a familiar song, lines of reassurance and comfort found crammed between the domestic dispute pages of any social services textbook. Ensure the accuracy of both perspectives. Ensure the blame is properly divided. Ensure they take responsibility for their actions. Relate current situation with personal experience to forge a temporary bond of familiarity and encourage trust.

If any part of their speech was delivered with the slightest hint of authenticity, the demographic that might have been fooled into believing they actually wanted to be here might have been bumped from kindergarten-age to that of a slightly retarded prepubescent. And yet they talk, voices heavy with illusions of wisdom, intonations rising and falling with waves of casual indifference. You're the mandatory results of frantic 911 calls made by raging husbands. You're the black scuffs left by city-standard boots against my kitchen linoleum tile. You're the words we've heard before, the calls to emergency hotlines we've already made, the domestic violence pamphlets we've long built ships out of carrying the hope that there might be an escape and that maybe the paper will last longer this time before it sinks.

You're only human.

My father rises from the basement stairs, his jacket smelling of the cigarettes he's ensured us he's stopped smoking. He's taken by the men in uniform, and as the garage door shuts I'm already running through a mental checklist to gather up the pieces left behind and somehow make them whole again. Clean up the mess. Assure the children. Keep mama sane.

Mother holds my hand within her own and the newly cracked tooth in her weakened smile helps me promise her that I will never allow a man to treat me that way.

She remains oblivious to how tonight's events have only made to solidify my detachment from this world and the people in it, and for her unawareness, I am thankful.

Tonight I am numb, but I am free.