Usually she'd let me sit between the two of them when they cuddled up together on the sofa.
The next morning, mom was at the table crying. "Where's Ross?" I asked.
"Gone to work?"
"No, just gone."
I was angry. I know I hurt her, but I was hurt. "What did you do wrong this time, mom?"
She flinched. "Nothing. He decided to go back to his wife. She went to see him yesterday. Said she wanted to give it one more try. Said their kids missed him a lot. She missed him a lot. I tried to get him to stay. He had told me so many bad stories about her. He said he never would go back with her. but, sometimes you just have to do what you don't want to do. He loves his kids."
"But, he said he loved you and me, too."
"I know. but, it's different. They're married. They're their kids." As soon as she said that, I knew she was sorry. "Honey, I never loved you any less because it was just you and me. You know that. You are my princess." She always called me that. Something I said or did when I was a baby.
I started crying then. I wanted it to work out with Ross. "I really liked Ross."
"Me, too, honey."
After that, she was with a couple of guys, but Jake was the worst of them all. She said she liked having a guy around. Liked having someone around at night when she got home. Maybe she just was trying to find another Ross. Who knew? but, that wasn't Jake. He hit her all the time. And today, he was angry enough to hurt her more than ever.
"Listen, I can't stay around here if I know she's going to talk. I'm not safe. She's one of those do good kids. Always saying, something is not right. Shouldn't' do this. Shouldn't do that. You tell me where she's at, or I'm going to leave you forever. I mean it."
"Hey, don't go. I'll talk to her later. You'll see. She doesn't even...
She's not that dumb. If you had been around like you were supposed to, you would have seen her coming."
"She could have thought you were helping them move or something."
"Right. And I'm Santa Clause. I mean it. When I head out that door, I'm gone for good." He started walking toward the door.
I prayed. Mom just let him go. He's no good. We'll find another Ross. or, Ross may come back. You never know. His wife could have done something stupid again. You don't need Jake. But I knew it was no good. She'd never let him leave. Instead, she'd wait until Jake left her one day, because she cried too much, whined too much, or wanted him around too much. Just like all the others that she had living here for a couple of months. She'd take the yelling and the hitting, because she didn't like being alone.
I would say to her, "But, mom, you're not alone. You got me." She'd say it was not the same. Being only with me, she was still alone. She loved when we were doing things together, but having a guy here was different. I never understood that. but, I did know that I would never let anyone treat me like Jake did. I'd find a Ross, or I'd live alone.
Lying under that bed, I was scared to death. What would Jake do to me? Mom, please, please. Just let him go. Then he was opening up the door, and my mom, torn between him and me, must have made a stupid mistake.
"What did you just do?"
"Nothing, Jake. Honest."
"You looked down behind you. You shit. She's been here all along. Under the bed."
Jake walked back to the bed, pulled mom out of the way, bent down and yanked me out by my arms.
"He twisted my arm so hard, I knew something had snapped. Listen, kid, you and I are going to have a nice…
They had a little more to worry about their health condition, and nothing more to be frightened about, that is all. One day, my boyfriend had to leave for another country where he had to stay three months. I was alone, at home, and his grandfather moved in with me because he had a heart condition. He was very sick and could not even climb the stairs by himself
The cigar workers sought to make themselves heard first through their newspaper and tehn by striking to make people listn to them: That strike had a special meaning for Puerto Rican workers. An indirect result of that struggle was that many other unions came to recognize the important role that Puerto Ricans can play as workers. It was then that they began to organize Puerto Rican confectioners, bakers, hotel and
Autobiographies A memoir or autobiography can take on a myriad of different literary forms; for both Gertrude Stein and Ernest Hemingway self-reflection is best achieved through the eyes of other people. The impact of Hemingway's A Moveable Feast and Stein's The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas is remarkable: the creation of autobiographical material that is neither narcissistic nor self-centered. The authors achieve their literary feats in part by writing in a
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Memoirs of a Boy Soldier by Ishmael Beah. Specifically it will discuss what, if anything should be done to prevent the participation of youth in international wars? The author was a boy soldier from the age of 12 in Sierra Leone. He talks about his experiences, and makes an excellent case for preventing youth's participation in such violence. Beah's experiences are horrific, especially for such a young child. He writes,