Move out my of mothers home, to a world to call my own.

          Every Friday night when I would get to my moms house their room would be trashed. Toys everywhere, sheets falling off the bed, dishes all over, dirty and clean clothes would be mixed up, the room was just a mess. My mom would make me help them clean their room. (They were all young, so I did all the work.) I remember being happy the whole time though. I’d sing while I cleaned, and organize their toys real neat in the toy boxes. My little brothers had these huge yellow tonka dump trucks, and I’d have those all stacked up in the closet then I’d fold their clothes.

I didn’t enjoy cleaning, and I’m not some weirdo neat freak. I was just happy to be at my moms house in a upbeat, environment. Since my house was always quiet. I enjoyed the sound of toys making noises as they got threw into the box. I liked the way the vacuum sounded. I liked how the TV would be blaring and someone would flip through the channels once a commercial came on and still hold a conversation with who was around. I liked the sound of laughter; rather it was my little brothers girly laugh, or my dads big bold manly laugh, I liked it all, mainly because I was with a little less than my whole family.

One time, their room was so dirty, with clothes and toys and blankets and food all over. I had been walking on the bed, but hadn’t noticed some broken glass (I’m not sure how or why there was broken glass on the bed.) I was just walking along, and I ended up stepping on this piece of glass and it went straight into my foot. At least an inch deep. Initially I hadn’t felt the piece of glass going in my foot. So I stepped down on the glass another time, and that’s when I was like “Uhm, that kind of hurt.” I looked down at my foot, and saw blood everywhere and this huge piece of glass sticking out of my foot. When my little sister saw the blood, she ran, screaming to my mom. Surprisingly, I didn’t cry, I just said, “I’m not going to school Monday” over and over again. I got in trouble for stepping on that piece of glass.

I was mad, well, I was more sad than mad. My mom and dad, both upset and yelling at me because I accidentally stepped on a piece of glass. “______, you’re just so damn clumsy!” she said. It made me feel like I had maybe done something wrong. It made me feel like, I should of knew better than to step on the glass. After I had gotten my foot cleaned and bandaged up I was sitting on the kitchen table and my mom was getting ready to leave. She threw her huge black ugly purse over her shoulder and as she headed towards the door with my dad, I said “Your stupid kids broke the glass!” She didn’t even look back.

My oldest sister had called later that night. She’s more like a mother figure to me so I was happy to hear her voice. She was in the military, and it was a big deal to hear from her. I had gotten my turn to talk to her and told her everything that had happened. I don’t remember her exact response, but I know that she said something about me being the Cinderella around there. And after I realized that I was basically kind of like a ‘Slave Child’ at my moms, I never stayed the night there again. I’ve became distant from my mom, dad and younger siblings. I’d see them often, but speaking to them was kind of awkward and rarely happened. “Hey, what’s up.” “Hows school?” “Bye.” Our conversations, when we had one, never lasted long. I’m not sure if it was mine, or my mother's idea, to let me go, and grow on my own. But I resent and love her so much, for letting it happen. Although I made it, through so much, assumed to be happy, laughing like a child, I still would've appreciated her presence to exist in my memories.