08
After that day, I didn’t go near Dad’s place
again.
He kept asking me to “come over,” but I
always said no.
When I was thirteen, Mom started dating
again.
Grandma hugged me, rubbing the old scar on
my wrist, carefully said, “Ashley, honey, it’s
been rough for you. Once your mom gets
married, things’ll be better.”
But things didn’t go as planned.
<
Mom’s new boyfriend was younger than her.
Never been married, immature.
They fought every three days, drama every
five.
And after every fight, Mom took it out on me.
More bruises, never less.
After another beating, Grandma said her
usual lines.
“Your mom’s just got a tough life.”
“Please, don’t blame her.”
Looking at my body, black and blue, I thought,
<
I don’t wanna blame her.
But who’s gonna save me?
I lay there like a dog, silent.
Grandma’s words didn’t register.
Then I saw it, the pesticide, sitting in the
corner.
Ending it at thirteen, didn’t seem so bad.
No one would call me stupid.
Or say I was insensitive.
No more worrying about putting the wrong.
foot forward.
