I have lots of good memories of my mother but also lots of not so good ones.
Like a good one is when i was little she would sing to me her favorite nursery rhyme from when she was little, in my little Alice blue gown, when i first wandered into town, i was both proud and shy, As i felt every eye, But in every shop window id primp, passing by. then in a manner of fashion id frown, and all of the world seem to smile all around. till it wilted i wore it; i'll always adore it- My sweet little Alice blue gown.
a bad one is she was beat before i was born. She didn't know she was pregnant and called another girl a crack head because she didn't like the was she looked. my mother was thrown against a wall slamming her stomach in the wall. it had caused minor defects but nothing too terrible. when i was 9 she told me. she hadn't even tried to make it sound nice or caring when i asked her why i wasn't like the other kids at school? why was i so scrawny and didn't have a single thing in common with them? not even the ability do anything well at school?
she screamed right in my face i could smell the alchol in her breath. she said it was my fault my father didn't come home. she said he was probably sick and tired of me. i started to get tears in my eyes.
i looked at her with caution and felt displaced. like i didn't belong with her. i ran to my room. i didn't feel like being any where near her. not with her alchol breath. i climbed out my window with the few things i thought i would need to survive a bag of food and water, a map, and a picture of my father.
