My parents

Dad is home after a day of things I stopped thinking about. He has a routine. Everyday he wakes up at five o'clock in the morning. Sometimes hung over from the drinks he had the night before, sometimes not. He doesn't eat breakfast; well he can't because there is nothing to eat. In occasion, we get food stamps. But still, he won't eat. He won't look or touch the food. Does he feel guilty for what he is doing to us?

He leaves without a sound. He doesn't give Mom a goodbye kiss or even says bye to us. They used to love each other like two love sick puppies. I remember seeing them happy with their arms around each other. We used to have fun vacations. But we also used to be a family, that was before Dad started to drink.

Now he goes to work and afterwards he comes home. Except when it's Thursday. On Thursdays, he doesn't come home 'till the cow jumps over the moon. I never knew what that meant but when I was eight I asked Mom what she meant when she said, "You father is probably out drinking his sense gone and won't come home 'till the cow jumps over the moon." She told me that was when the moon was just over your head. Every Thursday he comes home with the smell of alcohol in his breath. He may or may not argue with Mom. Sometimes I hear what they argue about. I try not to listen to my father yelling or my mother crying. At first I had no way to escape, all I could do was cradle myself in my bed with my pillow over my head, trying to muffle the sound of their screams. But I couldn't take it much longer, around the time I turned fourteen, I got sick of being around the house while they argued. I started to spend as much of my free time on the streets. I would walk around in circles not caring. I would even go to the park just to see the happy families and try to imagine me being part of them.

I took care of myself and no one else. That was until Ali was born. Now my first priority is her. Every time they fight, my first instinct is to go to her and cradle her in my arms and sing her lullabies. I was hoping today they would not fight and luck was on my side. Instead of coming home and arguing, Dad came home dragging his feet and fell sound asleep on the couch. I'm happy that today we get to sleep in silence with no fears.

I woke to the sound of thunder pounding through my open bedroom window. I always kept my window open, no matter what. Most people would be afraid of being robbed but I had nothing of value to be stolen. The walls of my room where painted a light shade of emerald green and where bare apart from my many drawings spread across them.

My mind snapped back from my thoughts and I turned to the window with the sound of thunder banging on the earth. The house shuck with fury. Through the clash of lightning the small cry of Ali could be heard. My instincts quickly took over my body, and I began to walk toward her room. I slowly walked down using my fingers to guide me through the dark hallway allowing them to travel over the sad paint chips the clung to the wall.

The door at the base of the small hallway opened slightly. I couldn't see who it was but I knew it was my room. She tried her best to be a mother to us but it became harder after Dad started drinking and they began to fight. The fighting and arguing drained the little energy she had. I tried to look into her face but the darkness would not go down with out a fight. I knew she was tired and that this was the only night she would be able to sleep calmly. She deserved this night to rest. I lightly placed my hand on her arm. "I'll take care of Alice."

"Thanks sweetie", her voice came out a low husky tone that clearly needed sleep. She brushed her hand softly over mine showing her abrishiation. She turned around and slowly stepped back into the room she previously immerged from.

I turned where I stood and walked into Ali's room. The thunder was still clashing which caused her to cry louder. I quickly scurried to her crib ready to care for her. I reached over the thin blanket. I tried to silence her with soft words, "Sh, sh, Ali, it's going to be fin…", but my words where cut short. For the first time in a long time I truly saw her. I saw her old clothes. I saw her unclean hair. I saw her small tears spilling from her light green eyes. I saw her fragile body, sucked dry by hunger, cradled close to my chest. What hurt me most was that I could feel her heart beat but only as a faint thump, thump, thump.

I felt my heart break and a stray tear fell from my cheek. I had to do something. I couldn't just let her suffer. "Tomorrow I have to look for a job." I whispered to myself as the thunder died down beyond dark and malevolent clouds, and Ali fell slowly into a light slumber.