A letter to all the girls i was before

2/24/17 12:05am
4/4/18 1:08pm

The earliest memory I have is when I was roughly 3 years old. My long hair was down and I
was having a tea party in my bright pink, cotton candy room. My dad was on some business trip
and was supposed to be gone for the next few days. When suddenly I hear the oh so familiar
sound of his footsteps down the hall.
My hair spins around and I run into his awaiting arms. This is our earliest memory.

Age 4 and I realize when mom and dad ‘disagree’ it usually ends with dad leaving or mom
crying again. She spends so many nights in my room that I can’t sleep without her anymore.
Age 4 ½ and dad isn’t home a lot now but mom doesn’t cry anymore. The house sits empty now
with only the photographed smiles to show for 6 years of married memories. The echoes of my
dad’s footsteps down the hall.
Age 5 i meet my dad’s ‘good friend’. They live in a house far away from mine but my dad’s
stuff is here so does that make it his house... too? I ask him why mom isn’t here but he explains
that mom can’t know about this house and the lady who lives here. She has pretty cheeks and
speaks softly to me.
But mom starts asking questions I can’t answer so, I don’t talk at all.

One night at 7 ½ I lead mom to dad’s secret house and the brown eyed lady who lives in it.
Mom asks why we’re here. I don’t know how to say it. But then Dad comes out..

That’s the first night I ever saw dad cry. My mom met the brown eyed lady and they didn’t get
along. Their voices got loud and I tried to close my ears, my eyes, anything to get away from the
noise. My mom runs. Taking me in the car, dad tries to stop mom but mom is mad. And dad
moves but I watch him as he grows smaller and smaller in the distance.

My mom didn’t talk for awhile not until we got to the airport. Not until we landed in a very cold
place far, far away from home. All I really remember is dad’s voice crying through the phone
begging me to come home but I don’t know how.
I don’t know if I ​want​ too.

At 8, Dad moves back into my mom's house. The house is too silent. They don’t talk to each
other. And Dad sleeps in Mom’s bed and Mom sleeps with me. They tell me that it’s better.
That the brown eyed lady is gone, and that dad is staying home now. But neither of them smile
anymore.

Age 12 my mom stops trying now, knowing my dad gave up long ago. I feel like i’m living in a
house of ghosts, both of them trying their best not to exist, this too, is still a battle. Walking on
glass trying to pick up the pieces of a molotov cocktail marriage that had already blown up in my
face.

Age 13, My dad’s moved on to yelling at me whenever he gets mad. Something as simple as not
doing the dishes is cause for an argument that lasts for hours. My dad yells at me, my mom yells
at him, they yell at each other.