drunk

one night, when i was seven, my mother decided to kill my father. i don’t know if she put any thought in it- or if it was just a combustion of years of unhappiness, alcoholic binges, his marital infidelity, or maybe the worrisome dna she'd inherited from her mother. it was completely and totally awful. she charged into the room i shared with him, brandishing a butcher knife, her gown flung open, exposing voluminous breasts, and as the air was sucked out of my small body i heard someone screaming -  it was me.

shocked, I watched the butcher knife come crashing down, headed directly toward my father's heart. waking, his arm instinctively blocked it. when it was over. i guided her back to her room and put her to bed. my father left, never to return. I knew the woman he left me with, the woman who tried to kill him, the woman who kept me for child support, would one day put a knife in me. 

it took a long time to realize, she already had.