Mommy, Cry No More.

I was supposed to be starting kingergarten in only five days. My mom didn't want me to be the only kid in class without something nice, something new on the first day. It was the first time my mom had ever given me new clothes. That was grandma's job. My sister had cried until we bought her a new skirt too.

My dad was working not far from the mall. We asked if we could see him. We wanted to show him our new clothes. If only he could have understood how happy we were for one pair of shoes and one skirt. He wouldn't know.

It was my dad's lunch break. Him and a few guys were sitting on the back of their trucks, laughing and talking. I jumped out of the car before my mom could tell me to stay in the car. I couldn't see anything wrong with running to see my dad.

The ground was all gravel. I remembered that. It was hard to run. I remember just about everything, as if it were only day that ever mattered.

My dad asked me what I had in the bag. Before I could answer, he told me to get back into the car. He was already angry, so I did as I was told. My little sister was sitting in the back seat. She was barely three. All she kept saying was that she wanted out of her car seat. I ignored her and watched my mom. She walked over to my dad. Looking back on it now, I can tell how relunctant she was. Each step was calculating how many she would need to take to get back to the car, fast.

The yelling began right away. He didn't give her money. She took it. How dare she take it! She didn't have a job. She didn't have to pay the rent. My dad getting angry wasn't unusual. It wasn't unusual that he shoved her to the ground. My sister started screaming at the top of her lungs, trying to get out of her car seat.

There were four of my dad's co-workers only feet away from him. More had stopped to see what the commotion was all about. No one said anything when he hit her and kicked her. No one tried to stop him, not once.

I don't remember how my sister got out of her car seat. I don't remember if she climbed over me to get out of the car. That moment was a blur. I was chasing after her. She didn't slip, not once, on the gravel. I couldn't seem to get my footing.

All those guys, not a single one of them stepped in. Not one until my sister got too near. It was only then someone came over and dragged my dad away. No one helped my mom get to her feet. No one offered to drive her home. No one even asked if she was okay. No one cared, because she deserved it.

That was the only time I ever saw my mom cry. I don't know if he had hurt her any more than usual or it was the humiliation of the whole situation. My mom cried all the way home and all evening while cooking dinner. She cried when my dad didn't come home that night. She stopped crying when he came home, but cried when she realized he was just there to gather his things.

That night I cried with my mom. She told me he still loved me. None of it was my fault, but that wasn't why I was crying. I didn't want to see her crying anymore.