Under the Stars

Chapter One

June 2006

My Daddy never came home.

He and Mama always have a big fight over things that I could not understand.  She's always crying furiously, saying forbidden words for the children, like me, to hear. This became a routine for us. Like Dad coming home drunk while Mom weeps in the corner hugging me with much force that I thought would choke me to death.

But he always comes home. Dad always does. Despite the heavy fights and the physical violence, he would always find his way home to us.

But last night, I think it changed.

I was still brooding on the window pane on my room when Mama called me downstairs. She never bought me the toy that I wanted. She would always refuse to buy the things that I wanted. Well, I guess that's what all mothers would do. Keeping tabs on their money because running out of money isn't a good exercise.

"Elizerose! Come down now! Your dad's gonna get mad if dinner's not ready yet!" That would be mama's words everytime I get my strong head ruling over my senses.

Because I hate it.

Don't get me wrong. Before, Daddy was all fine. He was funny and witty. He taught me things that made the kids around my age wonder how on earth would I know the "these and that". He laughed with me and Mama during those Saturday nights watching funny movies. He even baked me my favorite cookies— the white chocolate one.

But now, he changed. He changed when Uncle Timothy came one night.

I was upstairs at that time because Daddy and Mama told me so. They also told me to listen to my favorite music and just turn the volume up.

But little did they know that their daughter is kind of a strong headed girl.

So instead, I got my art materials and started to brush my paint-filled brush into tiny strokes and lost myself miles and miles away from reality. Each stroke for me is a smile, a ray of sunshine and happiness all wrapped in a strike of a color.

But that night was different. Because somehow, deep inside me, there's that gut feeling that something was wrong. I just couldn't pinpoint it.

And in my tiny age, I learned things that the normal "tiny" aged children wouldn't understand.

Somehow in my painting session, I heard some shouting voices. More like someone arguing, actually. It seemed like my Daddy's and Uncle Timothy's voices are starting to get into competition. So, I started to drop my materials and placed it on the table, hurriedly running towards the door to sneak a peek.

All I could make was when my name was involved.

"...Elizerose to know. She shouldn't know. She's just a child!"

It was my Mama's voice who recoiled everybody's voices down. Pregnant silence remained and only nothing but the crickets were happily making noises outside.

That's when I decided to come down.

All of them got their eyes so wide on me that I thought their eyes would pop out. Mama ran hurriedly towards me and asked if I heard anything. And I did tell her. Tell her the answer that a good daughter would give.

I lied. I lied that I heard nothing.

A good daughter wouldn't worry her mother, right?