Stories From Growing Up: like me despite your rage

Someone spilled Coke on the couch cushion. The wicker based, floral cushioned couch in the first rental we lived in. We had been left alone for a while.

I meant to be proactive and I was tired of the chaos of no one watching. I knocked on the door and it didn’t open. I mentioned the couch and went back to my things.

What the fuck.

Some for you,

Some for you,

He grabbed more Coke to pour over our heads, over toys on the floor, over everything.

Words, over and over. The way I started to laugh at first, thinking he was being funny. No.

I sat in the puddle, assessing the mess as he called us names. We damaged things, a tiny spill like the ocean I guess.

The puzzle in the floor was soaked, fraying picture from the wood, by the time he was done.

He said, clean it up.

So I tried to hide my shame and fault. I cleaned eagerly, trying for approval, coke still dripping out of my hair.


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