![]() ![]() Looking in the mirror, I part my hair a little to the side so more falls to the right, before putting in a small clip to hold it in place. The more layers I can put on, the better. It’s early January, and the Minnesota winter is raging. They’re soft and warm and will help with the chill on my mile-long walk to school. I go with a short button-up blue jean dress with wool leggings underneath. I pull myself from the bed and get ready for school. When I finally hear the front door slam closed, all my muscles release, and an all-too-familiar tension within me relaxes. I desperately don’t want that change to come. I can feel it deep inside me, like he’s waiting for me to do something wrong so he can strike out.īut I always make sure there isn’t a reason. Maybe it’s the look in his eyes, but I can see it. I’m constantly walking around on eggshells, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But recently his anger has been rising and flying my way. Dad used to be able to drown his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle and pretend I didn’t exist. Things have been getting unstable lately, and it’s only getting worse. ![]() Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I slowly sit up and listen for his movements. It wasn’t always like this, but it is now. ![]() Dad’s always coming off a weekend bender, because alcohol seems to be my father’s reason for living. I can only hope he doesn’t call out my name. In 2020, the Last American to Receive a Civil War Pension has DiedĪ sound of something shattering in the kitchen followed by a string of curses causes me to hold my breath. ![]()
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