Ranch Dressing and Christmas

I used to remember my fifth birthday party. I had a barbie cake and I think I got a baby doll. But that might have actually been Christmas. I haven't thought about it in years.

I remember you.
But when I remember you it isn't your face.
It's fragments of sounds and images and words.

Fighting over Ranch dressing. It was Ranch dressing and I still remember that fight.

You had it hard growing up.

The baby screaming.

Baseball games.

Secrets. Stereotypes.

"Mom where's dad?"

Missing appointments and "i'm so sorry" notes.

Flashlights thrown through the wall and the ugly picture we had to hang to cover it up.

"Mom, where is dad?"

The baby is still crying and you're still not home and I'm staying up trying to get her down.

I was 13.

You were 46.

Promises broken and Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

Crying and laughing and both at the same time.

Screaming. So much screaming.

"Mom where's dad?"

And I still remember making a family music video to That Way by the Backstreet Boys. But the Backstreet Boys broke up eventually and so did we.


 Esther.