gone man » alex standall

•nine•

It was Matt's sixth birthday. I chase him around the table, laughing and giggling like little ten year olds do.
   Life was so good back then, my life wasn't crumbling into bits and pieces. My mother was actually a mother to me.
   She smiled and laughed with Matt's mom while drinking lemonade. That was, of course, before she started becoming more invested in alcohol.
"Can we do presents now Mommy?" Matt tugged on his mother's shirt.
   She politely nodded and brought his presents to the dining room table where Matt sat.
   He chose a blue and green bag that read "happy birthday!" on it. That was mine.
   He tore the wrapping paper out of the bag and pulled out the bright white baseball cap with his favorite baseball team imprinted on it.
"Thanks, Alex." His smile was contagious.
"No problem." I smiled back.
   After all the presents, I sat next to Matt as he downed his cake. I wasn't really hungry.
  
   It was time to go home. My mom drove into the driveway of our brick house while I looked around for dad's car. I didn't know something was wrong. I was six, and so so innocent.
"Where's dad?" I unbuckled my seatbelt.
   Mom looked frantic and confused. They had been fighting for the past year or so, I could hear them from my room when I was supposed to be sleeping. But I didn't know he would just leave us.
   Leave me, with her. That was just one of the reasons why she is like she is now.
"Don't know, Bud." She sounded sad, torn.
"Sorry Mom..." I let my voice trail off.
She pulls me into a hug as we walk to the house.
"It's not your fault, Alex, don't let anyone ever let you think that." She said.

   She said that. She used to be a great mom, the one who would take care of me when I fell down outside playing soccer, the one who would make me soup when I was sick. I miss that, I miss her.
   She used to be radiant with a smile. Now, she has bags under her eyes and a cranky frown. All because Dad left us that day. He just couldn't live with us anymore.

   The memories of that day came flooding back, I was sitting on my bed, looking at an old picture of Dad and I when I was around five years old. We were standing in front of a tree, smiling. God, I miss that.
   My fingers trace the bandage I put over the gash on my head. Leaning back into the wall my bed was up against, I shut my eyes. The picture lies next to me, it's silver frame gleaming from my bedroom light.

(a/n: AaAAaaAaaaaaaH sorry it's short again idk what to write???? Give me ideas in the comment section pleassseeee)