“She picked me up from school 30 minutes late. Drunk. Again. We went to the bar in the plaza where she always drank. She handed me a roll of quarters to play pinball. We stayed long after the quarters were gone. I would beg her to leave, but I knew from experience that it wouldn’t get me anywhere. Later we would drive home and I’d clench my gut the whole time, scared of what she might hit or, maybe worse, that she’d go to jail again. Once we arrived home, I would cry myself to sleep and tell myself that I would never be like her. I would have a family and kids and I would never be like her. I’d dream about my father (whom I’d never met) rescuing me. I just knew he was out there somewhere missing me. He would love me in a way she hadn’t.
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