I was six whenever I heard my mother scream to the top of her lungs. I remember because after her terrifying scream a gun shot thundered out of her room , and the ringing of the gun burned my ears. I remember because the next day was her birthday, and she didn't come home. My daddy told me, she'd come back in a few months and that's when we'd celebrate. For two weeks, I watched the untouched chocolate cake dry and observed the icing and it's ability to harden. On the first Monday of the third week, my daddy took the cake and I never saw it again. I cried all night, not because I missed my mama, but because she didn't get to enjoy her cake .
