It's the most vivid memory I have. It's before my dad left us. I see my bed that looks like a picket fence, my room, our apartment, the screen door with a bright shining day on the other side of it. It's like I close my eyes and I am there. I am small and I still believe the songs on the radio are sung by little elves that live inside of it. I cannot remember what I did wrong but all my memories of her start this way. I am laying on my stomach on my bed. My legs are tied together at the ankles and she is crying and tying my hands behind my back. I know there is no use but I try to get away and end up falling onto the floor. She pushes me into my open closet and kicks me in the stomach. I lay there on the floor crying and imagine myself somewhere else. I don't know how many times she's done this to me but I do know I knew I would be let out before my dad got home. She lets me out and unties me. My dad comes home and sees my wrists and they start fighting. She is ironing a red polka dot dress of mine for meeting and then tries to hit my dad with the iron. Aiming first at his head and then between his legs. He dodges each one and holds her by her wrists. She screams for help as if he's beating her. He takes the iron out of hands and places it back on the board. She stays on the couch holding her wrists as if they are broken and my dad grabs me and my sister and walks out the door, leaving her in her misery. We go to my aunt's and my dad has to go back downstairs because she's called the police like she always does. Nothing out of the ordinary just what I've come to expect from my poor excuse of a mother....
*Originally written January 12th 2012
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