64. Mark

I'm in my room where I hear slamming doors and shouting. I'm 7, living in the projects of a Miami suburb with my brother, my mother, and her boyfriend Mark. I hear his voice last before I loud bang sends the pictures hanging in the living room crashing to the floor. The front door clicks shut. Within a couple minutes I hear this song coming from the old Sony speakers. I quietly leave my room to check my mother who is propped against the radio, long legs in front of her, head in her hands. She motions me to come to her. As I get closer to her, I notice her right eye is swollen and purple, but I don't ask questions.

She runs her fingers through my hair. It's late and she tells me after a few minutes to get back to bed. Before I go she looks at me with tear stained eyes and says,

"Do not have faith in me. Do not have faith in your father, and promise me above all else, you will not have faith in a man. Any man. I don't care who he is. The only person you should have faith in yourself. Please please please promise me the only person you will have faith in only yourself."

I promised her. When I got home today, I opened the fridge and had a beer. I turned on the radio and this song had just started. Along with Mary's song, my mom's words echoed in my head. The first sip of beer I swallowed hard. The second, I swallowed sweeter. Much much sweeter.