Broken Home

February 22, 2011
Mama, you lied. It wasn’t what you said at all. What they did. Where they yell. I didn’t want it, Mama. The way they say things, the way it’s supposed to be, all the storybooks and movies, why did you lie to me?
I was waiting in my room. I was trying to be helpful like you said. And anyway, I don’t like waiting in my room not being able to do anything about the situation. But I listened to you because it makes you happy and you say it’s the right thing to do. I like being with you Mama, but you’re so far away. I waited such a long time. I waited in my room, just like you said, but the shouting never stopped, it never stopped once.
Mama Mama a hundred times. Why didn’t you hear me when I called? Why didn’t you tell them to stop? The one who threatened to leave and never come back. He said I love you my daughter but I can’t stay here; I just can’t take it anymore.
Mama make them stop. I couldn’t make those two stop fighting. I couldn’t do anything but shudder in my dark room, as ominous as a raging thunder storm in Florida. I don’t remember. It was late. Please don’t make me tell it all.
Why did you leave me all alone while you’re so far away? You’re a liar. They all lied. All the books and magazines, everything told it all wrong. Only the threats screamed at the top of his lungs and the cell phone I dropped on the floor after I dialed the number, only my heart beating as fast as a race car speeding around the track. Only the person on the other end of the line saying "Hello, hello? Hello, miss? My dogs that watched. The screaming. Both of them never stopping.
Then the colors began to whirl. The ceiling tipped. The empty bottles disappeared as I fell to the floor. Good, I never wanted to see them again. Their angry pounding footsteps as he left the room and as she came to help me. They just wouldn’t stop yelling. Things never had to be like this. He said I just can’t take it anymore, I just can’t take it anymore.

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