When he was nearly nine years old, Steve Randle's mother left him.
It wasn't a surprise, really.
In a small, dirty, neighbourhood like his in Tulsa, Oklahoma, the chances of a parent leaving their family to start a new life elsewhere were greater than a kid like him would go on to graduate high school.
It wasn't as if God had these patterns of life set in stone for every boy born into his neighbourhood.
But that was just how things ran in the east side of Tulsa.
You lose a parent, you dropout of highschool, or you end up dead on the streets.
Sometimes, Steve would catch himself wondering if he would hit the trifecta. It certainly wouldn't surprise him if he did. But as soon as he would start to think about which way his life would lead, he would always push away the feeling of pure dread in his stomach and focus on whatever was in front of him.
Just like his old man would say; ignorance is bliss.
But after Violet Randle left, leaving her son in the hands of her pathetic drunkard of a husband, Steve learnt the valuable lesson that ignorance isn't bliss.
Ignorance led to confusion, anger, and bitterness.
The day Violet Randle left was just a regular old afternoon at the Randle household on 23 Emerson Street. Frank was out the garage, fixing tyres and other whatnots and wouldn't be back till late reeking of booze.
Steve sat on his bed, trying to read his mom's battered down copy of Huckleberry Finn, while the tornado called Sodapop Curtis raced around his room; a disastrous attempt to be superman.
Steve didn't care too much for his friends antics until the crash of hollow porcelain onto his hardwood floor cracked into his ears. Sodapop looked down then up at his face, alarmed with pale panic.
Steve's heart raced as he looked at what used to be his lamp.
For as long as he could remember, Steve was always lectured about not being wasteful.
They didn't have the money to replace new things, so it was important they took care of all things carefully.
When he was younger, he was out in his backyard playing ball with Soda until it ended up with a busted window.
That time he faced the end of his old man's belt, and wanting to be able to sit without pain Steve sprung into action.
He scrambled to pick up and hide the pieces with Soda, but all attempts were lost as the door swung open with a mighty bang.
At the door, Violet Randle stood, her eyes wide with alarm. She looked at the two boys then at the mess on the ground and the alarm in her eyes distinguished.
The look of utter sadness in her blue eyes shone through a thin layer of tears as she looked at what once had been her brother's lamp.
This sad and lonely look was the one Steve would always see on his mother these days while she stared outside the kitchen sink for hours and hours.
"Don't get mad at Steve, Mrs Randle," Soda said, bowing his head down. "Steve's done nothing… I broke the lamp and I'm awfully sorry ma'am."
"It's alright," Violet sighed softly, moving forward and placing a hand onto Sodapop's shoulder before he could swoop down to collect the porcelain shards. "This is why we can't have nice things. You go on home and be a good boy to your momma now, won't you?"
Soda gave his momma a sunny smile with a nod, and with a small salute to his best buddy, he raced off to his own home.
Steve held out his arms happily, hoping for a hug, and Violet delivered it without a smile. As his momma squeezed him tightly, he deeply inhaled the soft smell of lemon verbena and soap that only belonged to his momma.
"You're lucky to have a good friend, Steve. Make sure you never let the good ones get away."
Then she tucked him in bed. Soft kisses and soft singing, to lull him into sleep, so that she could slip away sometime in the night to start her life anew with signed divorce papers in her hands.
It's been six or seven years since it happened, but it wasn't something Steve could forget so easily.
At times he thought he could, and then he could move on with his life without any grudges. But every time his old man would swing sloppy blows at him, kick him out screaming what a no good bastard he was, and getting jumped on the streets, he'd just wish his bitch of a mom would die and burn in hell again and again.
If she had never left, Frank wouldn't be wasting away all of their money on booze and take his miseries out on Steve.
If Violet was still here, Steve wouldn't have to crash at the Curtis' every stupid weekend.
If Violet had never left then he wouldn't be out on the streets so much and get into fights every second day.
If Violet wasn't a coward, things would've been a hell of a lot different.
The sad thing was that he didn't want to admit to himself the actual truth.
That even if she had stayed, nothing in his life would've changed.