I left my mother’s embrace. The alcohol dripped off her words, “If you leave, I won’t be here when you return.”, the car door shuts.  She stands in the driveway screaming at the car- her voice is muffled by my heart throbbing in my ears. My voice refuses to swell into the air, my mouth must cope with only  mouthing the words that do not need to be said. The words have changed too much, if I remain silent will she?

The stillness become serene. The tears don’t feel foreign- but you do.  The words I used to describe him, now seem strange to my mind. The words changed too much. He changed too much- for the woman.  I loved him and he loved me. Do I still love him, does he still love me? Does he only love her?

The mother I loved stole my father I admired away from me. He belongs to the woman. She couldn’t have the man she fell in love with-  so no one could. I hated her- I knew I didn’t.  She wouldn’t remember causing this pain the next morning. Why should I? She was all I had, he was consumed by the woman but she was consumed by a drug.  This car ride to nowhere, nowhere to come back to- nowhere to go.

This woman opened the doors they hid behind- they are gaping now. Nowhere to go but further into the room. My mind tried to force the doors closed but the memories began to alter once touched by her. His image mutilated from the father holding my hands twirling me around the basement to the rock and roll that shook the house. He is now the woman. A prayer that this was one of my mother's drunken lies. I yearn for the doors to conceal everything that had been told about him- I wish the car would conceal me.

The memory of my father and the woman must remain untouched, if I remain silent so will she.