Once, when I was eight, I spent the night at my friend’s house. We loved to paint, Zoie and I, and that night, we painted for hours. We laughed and painted everything we loved. We were young. Nothing could hurt us. But that night quickly turned upside-down. That night, Zoie and I heard screaming coming from outside and that night, her mother stumbled through the back door in a tattered, black dress, smelling of cigarettes. She was crying but it was not just any cry. It was like her eyes were drowning.
Zoie told me that this had happened before and that we just had to leave her mother alone. We watched delicately from the crack in the doorway as she tore open the kitchen cupboards in search of the bottle she called her medicine. We hid as she
Zoie told me that this had happened before and that we just had to leave her mother alone. We watched delicately from the crack in the doorway as she tore open the kitchen cupboards in search of the bottle she called her medicine. We hid as she