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The Year 1999
Momma was abused. The times back then were simple and it wasn’t unheard of for a child to be knocked in the face or head a few times, but I think Grandma over did it Nonetheless history must repeat itself, but what happens to me isn’t physical, but emotional.
Daddy? Well he wasn’t abused, but he wasn’t raised as a child should be raised. His momma was a drunk she always was glossy eyed and out of it, so his granddaddy had to raise him up until God touched him and put him to rest. Then his momma died and Daddy raised himself at the West Texas Boy’s Ranch
Eventually faith brought him and Momma together and thus I, the mistake was born. I am a mistake, a drunken one at that And don’t go droppin’ your big bucket of sympathy on me. I know I am the Mistake, Momma told me herself.
I could go ahead and drown myself in self pity, but I’m above that and I feel like by starting from the beginning my story might teach you a few morals, so let’s go back to 1999.
I was three years old in ’99 and I loved it. We didn’t have much and my family was in a tiny apartment in a medium sized city living off of potatoes and ground meat. We weren’t in poverty, but we sure as heck weren’t billionaires like some of the people we shared the city with.
Back then in the Golden age my life was perfect! I had my cousins a few doors down to play with, so I was never bored and Momma and Daddy were as happy as a child the day after Christmas. Then Daddy quit his dead beat job and got a new one making $15.00 per hour and Momma started college. Daddy was always gone for work though as only a truck driver could be.
We bought one of Daddy’s deceased relative’s house and got rid of that nasty apartment. Eventually I started school and got recommended for the Gifted and Talented program and Momma graduated with a degree in Law Enforcement.
But then things went downhill and the Dark Ages began. .
It began with a telephone call. I remember sitting on Daddy’s big blue recliner. Momma was screaming into the phone and yelling bad words at Daddy. A slam here. A bang there. A flying object over there. I was scared. My heart was beating so fast it felt like I had just ran a marathon. My eyes were stinging as if battery acid had been poured into them.
Then a little voice in my head gently advised me to run. He said, “Run Alice! Escape the stabs of pain. End it all. Run away!” I did as he instructed and ran. I let the screen door slam behind me not caring if she heard it. The sky was gray and I could smell rain in the air. It didn’t smell like regular rain, though. It smelt salty, like tears. I decided it smelt that way because the Angels were sad because of Momma and Daddy.
My little legs carried me as fast as they could I was barefoot and could feel rock, glass, and stickers digging into my tender skin. I felt warm, thick, scarlet water covering my feet. I didn’t notice nor did I care. Then I entered our alley and didn’t know where to go, so I settled for the hood of Momma’s broken down purple Malibu.
I cried for what felt like hours. I kept gasping and chocking on my own tears. If you could collect all the tears I cried that evening I swear you could fill the Black Sea five times. Then I felt warm arms caressing me. I didn’t look up because I knew they were my momma’s. I kept crying and let her pick me up.
I understood more than a three year old should. She washed the scarlet water off my feet There were holes in my heels. Deep holes. I couldn’t walk for a week. Daddy cheated on Momma. I called him and yelled at him. I heard Daddy cry that day. I always thought he was invincible. Daddy broke like a little glass angel on Christmas.
I broke my daddy. And I cried for that. That’s the day the Dark Ages began.