Run. That word circles around in my head every time I see him. My heart beat quickens. My breaths deepens. Every time I hear a slap I jump. I just want to run. My veins pulsate from the anger and my pupils shrink from the fear. When I think back on the dark nights he hit her my mind twirls around in thoughts. I could have saved her. Those bruises were my fault. I carry the burden of her cries on my shoulders.


It’s January. The winter air is sharp and burns my skin. My father pulls up to the cracked driveway and repeats for a third time this car drive “You don’t have to go..”
“But I do” I reply my voice firm and confident. He doesn’t know what I know.
“Well I love you kiddo” he leans over for a hug. The warm embraces makes me not want to get out of the silver Volkswagen, it makes me feel safe. I walk up the pavement to the large oak door.

As I open the brass door knob I shiver with what might await me on the other side. It’s been a month since I stayed over my mothers house. Garbage covers the floors empty bottles and dirty plates are everywhere. I walk through the long hallway into the living room. I find my sister watching some Disney classic. She eyes fixated on the screen. She still knows what it’s like to believe in a Happily ever after. Turning her head slowly I see her pale sad face. A month ago she had dark golden skin and live springing from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. Returning to her own Cinderella story I walk away.

I stand straight and begin to look around for her. My mother. Not sure what I will find I prepare myself for the worse. I go into the bedroom and find her sleeping with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a lit camel cigarette in the other. I stare at her. My eyes scan her body But it does not budge. Her chest lay flat. Still like water after a storm. I see her face twitch. I remember when I first started checking her. I was 5. It was a broiling mid august day. So sweltering you could hear the cranberry bogs sizzle. She had locked me out again. I sat on the white porch, waiting. Waiting for daddy to come home or for her to stop being maddened by me. For a 5 year old I pondered quite in-depth about this. Individual beads of sweat rolled down my face Like rain on a car wind shield. Fatigued and starved I went inside the dark house. I found her there. Sprawled across the floor unmoving. Scared I shook her, poured icy water one her face, moments felt like eternity till she finally opened her eyes. My mind drifts back to the present like the first snow of the season falls to the ground. I look at her again. Shaking my head I grab the cigarette and the bottle of cheap vodka and walk towards the kitchen. I unscrew the red cap and poor it down the drain. I know she will just buy more. She always buys more.
I began my Routinely stash checks. I try the sock drawer and the kids toy box, her old art box. I don’t find much but what I do find goes down the drain. The stench invades my nostrils and makes me sick.

I try to remember the days when I didn’t know this scent. When she smelled of lavender and freshly dyed hair. How she smelled in the spring. Spring she went without drinking that was her Rhythmic rotation In the spring I had my mom. We had the car. Listening to soul asylum the windows down. Her hair immaculate, lush hair
and her makeup flawless. She was pale even in the summer expect for her dark left arm from hanging out the window while she drove. The sun glistened in her gray eyes. She was full of dreams and she would have it all. But fall always came and the leaves fell, and they took her with them. As they swayed she swayed till they hit hard cold Boston pavement. Every time she hit, she shattered.

As I sit at the table drinking orange soda she stumbles in. He hair knotted and her mascara running She looks at me with those cold gray eyes that used to dream.