Marcy POV

The house is dark, like usual, and some Chinese soap opera plays in the background. I stand in the doorway, holding a couple dolls in my hand. Dad walks through the door, and shakes his head. I burst into tears and run over, my barbies clattering to the floor. I burrow my head in his dark blue blazer, dampening it with my tears. He pats my back.

"Pick up your toys and go play in your room."

"I want to help."

"No. You're only 8, what good can you do to me now? Go play or something."

"Ok Daddy."

Later that night, I'd crept out to the kitchen, hiding by the doorframe in my frog pajamas. The neighbors, the Boonchuy's, were there, sitting at the table.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I'll figure it out."

"We're always here if you need us."

"Thank you."

"Oh, it's our pleasure...after everything." Mr. Boonchuy said, sliding over a casserole dish and a take-out container from their resturant.

"It must be so confusing for a little girl." Mrs. Boonchuy shook her head, and I start to tiptoe back to my room, but run facefirst into...someone I can't quite remember. They are a figure my height, black like a shadow. The figure grabs my hand and walks me back to my room.

They don't say a word.

I don't either.

We don't need to.

I wake up the next morning, and walk into the kitchen. My younger brother and sister sit at chairs that seem massive compared to their sizes. Dad is passed out, slumped on the table,whether he's drunk or sleeping I can't tell.

"Good morning guys."

"Good morning Sis!" Mae hops up off her chair and rushes up to me.

"Let's see what the Boonchuy's left us last night." I open the fridge and take out the take-out container. I peek inside before putting it into a bowl and sliding it into the microwave. The beeping when it's done wakes Dad up. He looks around the room, before putting his head down on the table. It takes me a minute to figure it out. He's crying.

I spoon a serving of the spicy noodles into a paper bowl, which I slide across the table. While I open a drawer for a spoon, Dad slinks back to his study.

The church is lit up with lights. I sit in the front row, next to Mae and Trevor. Mae, whos big mouth gets her into more trouble then good, and Trevor, who really only talks to me.

The bride walks down the isle, another shadowed figure. Her wedding dress is a pitch black shadow. Dad stands at the altar.

As the two make their vows, my blood boils in my veins.

Mom has only been gone for 6 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days.

Dinner is empty. Trevor's babbling and Mae talks about her day at school.

"Ma. I want more pasta." Trevor says, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork. My elbow collides with the brides, trying to grab the green bowl of alredo.

"What are you doing?" She says, glaring at me.

"He asked me for peas."

"He said Ma."

"He's known you for a week. And 'Ma' is sort for Marcy." I point out. I'm trying to give this woman a chance.

"What kind of moron can't even say Marcy?"

Chances have ran out.

"He's not a moron!" I yell, standing up, knocking my chair over.

"You don't know your place young lady!"

"You're not our Mom! Quit acting like it!"

Something that's built inside me explodes, and I dump the bowl on top of the lady, covering her in white sauce and noodles. Mae and Trevor giggle from their seats.

She grabs me, leaving a red handprint on my arm. Her slaps sting, but not as much as my Dad sitting at the table, a hint of laughter in his manner.

I claw my way out, my arms getting tangled in wires, pulling me out of my dreamlike state.

Oh Marcy. It's just a memory.