Chapter 1
Vigorous: energetic or strong. To be powerful.
“Why, why are you doing this to me,” I shouted into my mothers face. “Just when you decide to leave, I actually need you!” My mother has been trying to leave for years, 12 in fact. She was always unhappy. An unhappy woman with four kids, a hardworking husband with a job, decent house, food to eat, and clothes on her back. God could come down to Earth to take us all to Heaven and my mom would still be unhappy. “Tell me what is eating you alive mom!” I repeated into her ear as she slammed a drawer shut by her vanity dresser. I have look through that mirror just about every morning to see what she sees. I see nothing but a simple 15 year old girl who has always throbbed to be touted. I chased my mother down the stairs like a lost helpless lamb jolting in every directing to find its mother. You would think I was a lost child in the grocery store crying to a staff member, but all the worker can hear is sobbing gibberish. The thing is, I’m not that much different from the child. Lost, helpless, and completely feeble. “Mom,” I screamed. “Not now Caroline!” she returned. “Not now, not ever, when?” I sobbed. My father Henry was crying at the kitchen table. In my whole life have I never seen grown men cry, besides my father trying to end arguments with my mother. But never in my life have I ever seen him cry like this before. His eyes were puffy and red. He trembled and almost fell over when he rose from the table. “Ab, oh Abigail please doesn’t go.” My father pleaded. “I will give you anything, everything. I will buy you a huge house. I won’t work as much to spend more time with you. Just please don’t go!” I couldn’t take it any longer. I dashed my way out the front door and sat underneath our family tree. The magnolia tree in our front yard that Jeff, Garrett, Olivia and I all played in, fell out of, argued together in , and cried together in. They were all there, red eyed, trembling, and shaking together in. I climbed up on a huge wooden platform that was glued, stable gunned, and nailed to the thickest and largest branch of the magnolia tree. My loving and caring father was terrified of one of us falling off and tumbling to our death. It supported my siblings like a mother eagle holding her babies upon her wings. “What are you doing out here in the middle of winter with snow falling from the sky like powdered sugar shifted from a sifter?” I said as I gulped down tears. “You need blankets.” I pulled a large unzipped and unrolled sleeping bag from our peach basket that was nailed just above the large branch. The peach basket held everything from food to band-aids. I wrapped the large sleeping bag around us and we looked like a group of Eskimos. “Nothing in this world is ever going to make mom happy, nothing. Dad is beating his rear around for her, and all she can say is, “it’s not enough,” well it is never enough for her now is it,” Garrett said. Garrett is only two years younger than me and I know just how he feels. Olivia who was eight cried, “It’s because I dropped one of her fancy plates wasn’t it?” “No, that was way to long ago. It was all an accident,” Jeff comforted. Jeff always knew what to say, always. He is two years old than me and he acts like a 12 year old with the heart of the cowardly lion and the brain of Einstein. “She won’t leave. Just watch,” Garrett confirmed. Olivia trembled, “But she packed her bags this time.” We sat there with gilt in our eyes trying to think of all the times we have upset our mother. We sat there in fear of the future when our thoughts were interrupted by the slam of the front door.
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