It is dark. All is quiet except for the squeaks and cracks of this 19th century house sinking into the foundation of the ground. I open my eyes and it is still dark. I reach out my right arm in hopes that my hand will find the button on my petite lamp. A soft glow illuminates my room. I sit up and strain to hear the soft voices coming from the television down the hall. I move my purple and pink flannel blankets off my body and get out of bed. The cold hardware floor sends chills up my body, so I put on my Barbie slippers. As I peek around the corner of my doorway I see my mother crying on the couch, using the television as a source of distraction in hopes that I wouldn't hear her. I've seen this scene many times these past 8 years, but I knew the scenes to follow would play out differently than they ever had in the past. She is waiting for him. Him I will not call my dad, but I will only call my father, although he's barely worthy of that title. Since I am now awake, I will wait, too. I sit back in my bed staring at the clock. Just as the hour hand reaches 2, I hear a car pull up. He's finally home.
             He drags his feet across the pavement and trudges up the fourteen stairs. He opens the door and slams it. He has no idea who is asleep in the house, nor does he have any consideration. Right away I get up again and look out from my room. I see him ignore my mother as if she's not even there and goes into their bedroom. Three minutes later he comes back out screaming at my mother because she has not washed his laundry. Then he lies on the couch to watch TV. My mother asks where he has been, yet he ignores her. She asks repetitively, but he keeps ignoring her. He finally gets up from the couch, looks at her, and says, "I was at the Sit 'N Bull, if you have a problem with that, then too bad." I wasn't even in the double digits yet, but I knew that the Sit 'N Bull was the local bar at the end of town. My ...