I remember when I was about nine or ten, we lived in a sizable cocoa-colored eight-plex. Not the most prepossessing place to reside in anchorage, but the simplicity of living with my family was advantageous enough. With glistening pristine windows clean enough to disseminate the array in the tidy living room. My brother, as usually withering his life away in his room, amusing himself with the same old games. Not the most social person in the world, even had a struggle carrying on a conversation with me at times. My parents were always jovial people, telling us we could be or do anything. After my mom got transferred back to Anchorage from Vancouver, things seemed to leisurely calm down. To me only being ten, things seemed ordinary.

The days surpassed by as if we still lived in our old house, in which felt like years. It was a cloudy inclement day, putting everyone in a despondent state of mind. The rain always reminded us of our old lives, in a way to that of the past. Thunder was strong and powerful through the night. Rumbling your ears and piercing you with trepidation, and that’s what I longed for. Rain puissant enough to leave dents on the top of your car. While everyone with serene emotion, sitting there wondering if it'll pierce through the sunroof. Then again my mom laughing in the front seat, as my tears coursed out in front of them.

Now the rain was light and maddening to the ears and exasperating to your mind. The smell used to be of fresh cherry blossoms, the enormous tree in the yard blowing pedals through you. Now it smelled vulgare and of rotting animals from the dumpster across the street. Kids of course always over exaggerate about the simplest things. They notice differences and change that don't seem obvious to the naked eye. Everything just unfolded that rainy day, like opening a letter with all the answers.

They weren't holding hands anymore, they hadn't in awhile, and I had begun to notice. That day in Washington with the authoritarian bullet rain, they were holding hands over the console of the car, laughing and looking irreproachably into one another's eyes. Now they were sitting on two different couches with looks of despair, just like the anchorage rain. They no longer had that gleam they once had. It had deteriorated throughout that year, I just never noticed before.

They called my brother as I walked out, he recoiled out slouching as if he hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks. Looking at the gleam in there eyes I sat next to my mom, as my brother near my dad. Hesitation from my mother's voice was clear but bold. As if she had memorized a speech but could never bring herself to present it.

My mother had always been the dominant figure of the house, just always let my dad hold the title. For that I cringed in hopes we could leave and everything could just be like that one rainy day. That rainy day I longed for, and hoped it would return once again. Silence reigned over for what felt like that of an eternity. She then spoke those words with relief, like she had been waiting a century to express them.

“Your father and I our getting a divorce.”

My brother gazed at my mom with a look of vexation and sorrow. With the sigh look of how could you do this to our family, as I felt that same anguish.

Although I had soon realised my dad just never had the balls to say it. He was like a child at times, never really the bigger man. As a glanced toward my dad my face heated and I could feel the bright redness boiling under my skin. My vision slowly succumbed shortly after, as my eyes filled with tears, slowly running down like a river from the ocean. Against the heat of my face, boiling and steaming too the touch. My mom held me as she grabbed the tissue box next to her. The look in her eyes were of disconsolateness and relief. It had to be done, she felt nothing anymore. I wondered what life would be like without him there. Of course I would still see him, but how could I just wake up and he wouldn't be there. How long would it take before someone else came into the picture. All these thoughts bombarded up, I was always the cry baby, the overthinker, and the over exaggerater of the family.

This time I sensed this was to be different, I would have to just learn to adapt and adjust. Sitting there stunned by shock, I rubbed my swollen eyes. Dazing off into my mind wondering what will happen when I wake up. Where will my dad be tomorrow