One is Better than Two
It’s Sunday. The t.v. blares with the sound of football announcers yelling out “spectacular” plays that have no meaning to me. My mother sits on the couch next to my Dad who’s screaming at the inanimate object willing his team to win. Mom’s only pretending to care about what’s going on to keep the sanity. My sister and I sit in the other room trying to drown out the unnecessary noise in order to finish homework. That was the daily rhythm of life before the melody faltered and my parents’ fell out of step. Everyone walked around on their tip toes, and not the pretty lighthearted ballerina tip toes, they were more like frightened scurries. The contrast between living with both my parents and now only living with my mom can be painted as hate and love. The atmosphere with both was a suffocating mixture of anger, heartbreak, misery, and dark heated clouds that were ready to thunder at any minute.
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