Alabama heat. Smoldering, boiling, balmy Alabama summer heat. The summer of 2007, I was five years old. Running and swimming in the lake to no end in the warm sunshine. I was just shy of five years old. I have never seen my mom more happy than when she watched us all as a family play that day. My father on the other hand, was not around. I knew even at five that my mom had an idea to where he was, but was too scared to tell us. All I ever got to know was he was doing, “His duty in the sandy places.” My dad would leave for months on end only saying goodbye. He would come back on a random day in a camo outfit with a fresh new haircut grabbing us and throwing us in the air as if we haven’t seen him in years. That day we were playing in the Alabama sun he came back to us. Arms thrashing and feet racing to see who could get to him first, and who would be the loser that had to wait their turn to get their bear hug. I missed the smell of his clothes, his platinum blonde hair, his eyes as deep as the blue sea when he would wink at us. My dad was my special person, and when he came home it was my favorite day.

   We went back into the enormous victorian house that evening. All four of us kids clung to our dad as if he was some new toy and we couldn’t drop it. We sat outside on the patio where the mosquitoes attacking us until we were forced to leave. My father talked about his long trips to the “Sandy Cities.” The cities across the ocean where the sand storms would rage for days, and you couldn’t see two feet in front of you. He would show us countless photographs of camels in the dunes, and the lovely women and children he would meet there. He talked for hours about being in the cities of Ramadi and the windy city of Fallujah, Iraq. He told us to go dress up in our dresses, and nicest outfits because he taught us the dances they liked to dance there. He repeated himself saying, “It is the most beautiful dance I have ever seen.” After catching up with us it would be time to give attention to mom. He didn’t enjoy it as much as he enjoyed talking with his us. He would also tell my mom that she never listened to what he had to say, but the kids were always interested. They usually had “mommy and daddy talks,” but even though we were asked to leave I would stay right next to my dad holding his hand.

   My parents never tried to hide things from us. They thought the more secretive they were the more secretive we would learn to be. They shared what they were talking about with us, but when it came to the Sandy Cities we weren’t allowed to hear what he had to say. Usually their adult talks are for only an hour. I knew because I sat and stared at the oven timer. 7uy I waited patiently, but this time the adult talk took more than an hour. Going into two hours they moved from the patio into their large room. I was extremely bored, so I decided to make my way there and wait outside the door. I put my small ear on the door expecting them to be talking about us kids, school, or even what else we could do this summer for fun. What I heard that night wasn’t close to anything I have ever heard before. My mom was crying, but not sad crying she was crying with rage. Furniture getting thrown, grabbing, screaming, chairs being thrown. I have never heard anything more scary in my life. I took a step back. My mom repeatedly saying is, “How could you do that when you have four kids.” My dad wouldn’t reply, and again I would hear my mom scream, “With another woman.” I didn’t understand what they were talking about. Did my dad find a new friend where he was staying. What did he do to make mom so upset with him. I sat there, outside waiting for one of them to come out. Nobody did. All I heard was crying and screaming. Eventually, my older brother came to my side. He has autism. I could feel him shaking when he heard what was going on, his breath flowing deep.

   My father cheated on my mom. I was super confused on why they were yelling back and forth like dogs in the night who bark at nothing. What was, “cheating?” I asked myself if it was something my obnoxious siblings, and I did. Confusion ran through my body, tears that were flowing out of my eyes like a waterfall. My dad thrashed the door open, my mom still screaming at him. I saw her red eyes, she was hysterically crying. As my dad started packing all his clothes up. My mom threw his clothes at him while he kept packing. I just kept thinking it was time for him to go back to the Sandy Cities. It was the middle of the night when he started for the door. I ran after him thinking I would get a big embrace. I grabbed his leg as he opened the door, I got shoved to the ground. My heart was empty, broken into pieces like a broken glass. I waited for him to turn back and say bye, but instead he got in the car and I saw the dust of the tires and then just red beaming tail lights.

   After that night, my mom was never the same. She cried all night the night he drove away, and for the next two months in her bed. I crawled up next to her feeling how wet her pillow would be. Feeling her rib cage because of how skinny she was from starving herself because she has no appetite. I laid with her for the next two months every night making sure she would fall asleep. She wouldn’t make breakfast, so I stepped up and started taking care of my family. I just wanted my family to be back to normal, so I tried everything in my power to make sure they had somebody to fall back on. Eventually, my mom started to get up in the middle of the night with nightmares. She would scream, and I would rub her back until she felt safe again. I was the only person there for her. My dad never came back to see us, never came back to say sorry to mom. Just dust and red tail lights on a long rocky driveway.