I am grey as I think back on memories. I am an only child, single mother after nine years. But, it's not what we had or didn't have that I think, reflect back on. I'm overrun by how things looked in my eyes. And I still cry to this day.
      By time I was nine, I knew things with my parents weren't great. They fought; and they never knew that I knew, that I always heard them through my thin walls, hiding underneath my bed covers. They fought about money, gambling, paying the bills, and sometimes even over feeding me.
      I remember the day my father left. My mother threw him out after finding out he had cheated on her and started his drug habit again. I remember coming in from outside; lugging my Barbies into my room, then my mother dragging me into their room.
      I was confused; my father's clothes were scattered in and around suitcases and my mother continued to pull them from their closet they shared. For the first time, they raised their voices in front of me, my mother saying cruel things and my father not saying anything in his defense. But, I remember my father leaned down, kissing my forehead before whispering "Goodbye" and that he'd miss me.
      I remember that I just sat there, I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what was going on. I could only think "Where's my hero going?" over and over again as he lugged his last suitcase out the door and started his big Chevy truck. I watched as he drove away and I remember wanting to cry out as my mother drug me to the front room window and making me watch him leave us.
      "Did I do something wrong? Is that why Daddy left us?" I asked, barely able to keep from crying. I couldn't cry; my mother say crying was a sign of weakness. But, she never answered me, and suddenly I felt that maybe I hadn't been perfect enough for my father.
      "I'll be good," I said, tugging on her hand only to whimper when she turned around and hit me. Afterward, she walked to their room, shut herself inside and didn't come out for awhile.
      I waited by the window for months, waiting to see his truck rolling back into our driveway. I had nothing else to do; my mother never liked me having friends. So, my only companions were my Barbies and my cat.
      But, my father did visit a couple times. But, any other time he tried, I remember sitting outside, playing house with my Barbies and hearing his truck and running to the driveway, only to be yanked backwards by my mother and shoved inside. I can remember squatting and covering my ears as they raised their voices and screamed at each other.
      My birthday then came around. He never showed up, or call to tell me Happy Birthday. No card and I remember my mother grumbling and calling him a dead-beat dad. I had no birthday; I had no cake, no candles that said "Happy 10th Birthday", and no presents like other kids my age got and threw in my face. Honestly, everyone forgot about me. I turned 10 silently. Not even my mother said "Happy Birthday". She couldn't look at me without hating me for seeing my father's personality and looks in her young daughter.
      My mother put many things on my small shoulders. I started working; managing several large paper routes by myself, buying my own school clothes and supplies and I always knowing that I'd never have enough to buy the things I needed, like shoes or even jeans. Then, my aunt Wanda and mentally handicapped cousin, Bradley, moved into our house. And, to this day, my mother doesn't know everything that Bradley ever did to me.