Little Miss America

The screen door slams from the wind. Outside the sound children playing and a women arguing with her boyfriend can be heard. That women is my mother. "Jo! Joanne, come out here!" My mother yelled. I slid off the counter, and walked over to the window to look at my mom in a long T-shirt that was covering her cut off shorts making it look like she was out there in nothing but a shirt. She was standing with a hand in her messy hair in front of a man that was closer to my age than hers. I use to wonder how she always had guys, young guys. But once I reached ten I realized that the guys she got were looking for women like her with daughters like me.