this was her home.

where she grew up.

screams.

when my mama fell to her knees after my dad smacked her cheek harder than he’s ever done before. her hand flew to her cheek. i still remember. her eyes filled with fear and pain. my dad full of rage, ready to strike any second. i was crouched behind the couch, invisible to everyone. but i still saw. and i still remember.

laughs.

when my mama spilled pancake batter on the floor and my dad slipped and fell. mama broke into laughter. her contagious, bubbly laughter where she throws her head back and her eyes almost shine. spatula still in hand, she reached down to help him up, suddenly forgetting everything he’s ever done to hurt her. he pulled her down with him, both of them covered in batter, dad leaning in to kiss her. she accepted. i watched from afar again.

cries.

when dad didn’t show up for three weeks. mama thought i didn’t hear her, but her loud weeps echoed through the hallway. dad had been gone for twenty-two days, leaving nothing for mama. no money, no food, no car, nothing. so i laid there, as she wept loudly in her room, and cried also. i was so numb, but somehow i cried too. i still remember.

so we stood there, remembering everything that ever happened in this house. her home. but she couldn’t stay. there was too much pain there.

and so she picked up her things, and turned back. one last look at her forever home. she held his hand tight, determined to not let go until she was okay.

they looked once at each other, both of their eyes brimmed with tears, ready to fall if they blinked.

hands tightly gripped together and to their bags, they headed out the door, determined to never look back.