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My husband, he has these tirades. Filthy, loud harangues that go on until he passes out. He calls me a harlot. A bitch. He rails against me for a minor fleck of dust in the corner, for baking the bread too crusty, for turning my back on Him in bed.

It’s my fault. Really. Fourteen-year-old girls can’t possibly know their hearts. But, my mama seemed happy to be rid of me, so my lips said ‘I do’ when my mind said I didn’t and set up house with Him.Continue Reading

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I got $700, Andra. 700 dollars. I can pay for stuff. Dad and his money are not easily parted. Unless one is selling him a television or anything related to the Georgia Bulldogs. At our first stop for lunch: I can get this…..All I got is hundreds. Lots of placesContinue Reading

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MTM got up extra early this morning. It was our final breakfast of the trip to Tennessee, and he wanted the oatmeal to be super-special for Dad. He laced it with apples and maple syrup. A singular cup of coffee spangled Dad’s place. Dad greeted all of the effort inContinue Reading