I remember my parents yelling, throwing around words of hate, not caring I was only upstairs.
I remember the day my father left my mother in tears, not stopping to say goodbye to me.
I remember feeling confused about why the things that happened, happened. Why did he leave?
Why was mommy crying?
I remember questioning the choices they made, wondering if they were best for me.
I remember my mother bringing home a different man, telling my brother and I this was her new
boyfriend.
I remember asking her why daddy was not coming back, only for her to tell me that they could
not get along.
I remember switching houses every other weekend, basically visiting my grandmother because
my father worked overnights and slept during the day.
I remember six years after my father first left, waking up one morning to find grandma in the
kitchen talking to a blonde-haired woman.
I remember my grandmother asking me to wake up my father, "Tell him that someone is here
to see him."
I remember the door creaking open and my father sprawled out across the entire bed, limbs
hanging off the edges, loud snores coming from him.
I remember just as I was about to touch his shoulder, I noticed a pair of gold hooped earrings that
belonged to neither myself nor my grandmother. Not even my mother.
I remember sitting in my room playing Sega, obsessed with Sonic, and listening to the voices
drift from the kitchen.
I remember seeing that blonde nearly every time I visited my father, well grandmother, seeing
her more so than my own father.
I remember the day my father sat me down and told me we were moving to an apartment and
that the blonde woman was moving in too.
I remember the day my brother refused to go on visitations with me because he did not like her.
I remember packing my clothes for the weekend and silently wishing he'd change his mind.
I remember the first night without him, staring at his bed longingly, hoping he would magically
appear and make everything right.
I remember those seven words that sent my life spiraling downwards, "Your father and I are
getting married."
I remember hating that stupid pink dress with frills and that stupid little bow at the base of my
hair braided, and stupid pink heels.
I remember watching them stand at the altar, wishing I had the courage to say, "I object."
I remember hearing her talk about my mother, saying she isn't fit to be my mother.
I remember jumping into my mother's arms and crying so hard my eyes were rimmed with
red, and my head was pounding like a herd of elephants running around.
I remember one Thanksgiving, words that haunt me still, "I'm pregnant. You are going to be
a big sister."
I remember the day she was born, everyone as happy as can be, but not me.
I remember seventeen days later when my grandfather passed away and I cried for hours upon
hours, wishing he didn't have to go.
I remember the first major fight my father did not take my side, "Your mother makes your
decisions. You're old enough to make up your own mind. She has no right to say
the things she says." – "This was my decision and not hers." My father merely watched
as I left the table and went hungry.
I remember more fights coming afterwards, both between my father and I and my mother and her
boyfriend.
I remember noticing the small bruises forming beneath her eyes, "I tripped into the door knob."
I remember watching him control her and not allowing her to live her life.
I remember too many arguments, too many hateful words, too many unhappy moments.
I remember very few times I could say I was genuinely happy.
I remember my mother's boyfriend saying he was leaving, perhaps one of the best and worst
days of my life. It was the beginning of hardships for us all, but at least I knew my
mother would be happier than before.
I remember February ninth, the day my mother's father passed away and all the problems
that unraveled there.
I remember that same month, February twenty-eighth, the day my father's mother passed
away, leaving me with just my parents and extended family.
I remember my so-called "friends" stabbing me in the back and then saying it wasn't them.
I remember the many nights I cried myself to sleep because I was frustrated and upset.
I remember so much pain and agony compared to the amount of happy in my past, and yet,
I remember realizing that I was truly happy wherever my mother was whether it is home or not.