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Better

I was eleven when the hospital called to tell us that Momma had died.
Eleven and a half when Papa started drinking.
Twelve when I realized that I could no longer sleep.
Thirteen when Papa found out that he loved me too much.
Fourteen when I found out that his love was, indeed, too much.
Seventeen when I finally ran away.

One night Papa came home from a long night at work with his partners Jack Daniels and Jameson Irish in the bar around the corner and he came into my room and he held me close and crawled into my sheets and I blocked out everything because I had gotten so good at blocking it out and then he was done and he told me he loved me and it would all be better in the morning and I heard him go downstairs and start snoring from the couch and I thought about what he said and and and
It would all be better in the morning.

I got out the suitcase that Momma had gotten me for Christmas that one year that we decided to go caroling in the streets and bring our neighbors Christmas cookies in the shapes of angels and stars, and I tried to put everything I owned into that one little suitcase and when it was full I tried to put in some more and when I realized I couldn't I got out my bookbag and I put everything else in there and I snuck into Papa's room and took all of the money that I could find and I put on my clothes and I put on my coat and and and
It would all be better in the morning.

I walked out of the house into the night and the cold and I walked and walked until I couldn't feel my face or my legs or anything else but I kept on walking until I found a store that was open and I went inside and bought some soup and I thought about what I was going to do for the rest of my life because I was never going back to that house with Papa in it because I told a homeless man on the train once and he said that the love that Papa gave me was wrong and and and

It would all be better in the morning.

I was thinking about my plans for the future when a boy with pretty eyes and a pretty mouth and a pretty face sat down in front of me and asked me what I was doing by myself and I told him that I had nowhere else to go and we talked until the sun came up and after we were done he told me that I could stay with him and I told him that I was "inappropriate" and he told me that was okay because he had a sister and only wanted to be my friend and he took my hand and he took my suitcase that Momma gave me and he led me a few blocks to his apartment and it was warm and inviting and and and

I was seventeen when I finally ran away.
Seventeen when Dereck found me and brought me home.
Seventeen and a half when I told Dereck everything that had been going on.
Seventeen and a half when Dereck called the police.
Nineteen when Dereck held my hand in court when Papa was sent to jail.
Nineteen and a half when I realized that I could sleep again.

It was all better in the morning.
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