Something Changed

Shortly after my sister was born, we moved in with my grandparents.
Not to their house—but into a new house, together.

It was about the same size as the house my parents had before,
but much, much smaller than the house my grandparents used to have.

I remember it didn’t have a pool.
My grandparents’ old house had a pool.

I didn’t know why we were moving in together.
I didn’t know why we had to move out of our house.
We just had to move.

And I knew it was because something was wrong.

The house we moved into had three bedrooms.
My sister and I shared one.
But that was okay—she was a baby.

Our room was on the other side of the wall from the living room.
I remember the nights my parents would send me to bed,
and I could hear the TV on the other side of the wall.

It was always something stupid, like Johnny Carson.

I would bang on the wall.
They wanted me to sleep, after all.
But I couldn’t, not with all the noise.

That would usually get me yelled at.
Sometimes it would get me spanked.

I don’t know how long we lived in that house,
but it was the first in a series of homes that we would share with my grandparents.

Years later, I asked:
Why did we have to move in together back then?

I never got a real answer.

My mother would tell me things like:
“Boompa’s business got stolen from him,”
or
“He was betrayed by a partner.”

One time, she said it was because of the mob.
I don’t know if any of that was true.

I do remember not liking sharing a room with my sister.
She cried a lot—kept me awake most nights.

Mom or Dad would be in and out of the room all the time.
That was annoying too.

I also remember everyone was fighting, all the time.

Boompa would yell at Granny.
Mom would yell at Dad.
Granny would yell at Mom and tell him not to yell at Dad.

Granny liked Dad more than Mom,
even though she was Mom’s mom.

They would drink and smoke together.