I remember a lot about the scariest night of my life so far. Oh God, I wish I didn't. I remember the smell of alcohol and hairspray. I remember the two people I love most in the world standing outside the door, in the cold, one intoxicated, one not. I remember the other person I should love most answering in her pajamas. This is were my mind splits a tad. For years after I will remember her saying thank you to my darling sibling and shutting the door, not the curses that apparently dropped from her mouth while she took her husband back. I wonder if it was God making me forget, I hope it was. I remember my father swaying before she pushed him, pushed him off those two little steps that lead up to the front door of our little house. I remember him crushing a little wooden table under him, glass shattering, a vanilla candle. I remember screaming before I knew what I was doing. I remember her telling me to not come near her, she didn't want me. I remember picking up the phone, dialing the only number I had ever bothered to memorize, just for this reason. I don't know how long it took for so much of my family to come see us that night. Both my sister, my mother's divorced parents, my aunt and uncle. I don't know how old I was, or my brother. I do remember it was Thanksgiving, and for the first time in my life I didn't know what to be thankful for. That nobody had broken a bone, only a heart or two. Or that the youngest of us was too young to remember.