"You're the one who's suffered! You had all the
pain and all the disappointment. Mommy."
"Okay, honey. Let's try not to talk about me
anymore. Let's concentrate on you for a while. I can't
wait to see you on that stage. Read some more," she
urged.
I softened my hard heart and did what she
asked. In fact, the play soon became my whole life. I
rushed through my homework at night and then went
upstairs to the magic attic room to read and recite
aloud. It just felt better to do it in that room, our room
for stories and dreams. I soon memorized the whole
play, everyone's part as well as my own. I could
deliver my lines and then Dell's, actually assuming
his position and lowering my voice to sound like him. It felt so good. I was safe, wrapped in the
cocoon of the imaginary world, the characters, the
time and the place. I was no longer here in a house
where sad tears streaked the walls, where dark
shadows brushed away our smiles, where old voices
full of disappointments and trouble echoed in the
silences that hung in every corner during the hours
when darkness draped over us and the moon fell
victim to night's long thick clouds.
The play was the thing, my everything, my new
world. It filled the void that had been dug and created
the day I spied on Daddy and saw him kiss that
strange woman on the lips. I had someplace to go to
avoid him, something else to think about and fill my
head, shoving out the anger and the disappointment
that followed the memory of that dreadful moment. It