Broken Pieces

March 13, 2011
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Deep breathe Kelly.


Why won’t he shut up?


I jump out of bed. Why would Tom call him so many times? Get out of bed and get him yourself.

I stomp to my parent’s room.

Mom is away, seeing her dying sister. She would fix this.

“DAD, can you please tell Tom to stop? I’m trying to sleep.” Yes, I’m seven years old and care about my sleep.

Crunch, Crunch, Ouch! WHAT did I just step on?

Another step. Ouch.

I turn and run out of the room.

Took a few years to realize my dad was an alcoholic. He trashed the bedroom.

That night, I stepped on the broken pieces of my life.

They were cleaned up, but never put back together.

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