After my father left us, he didnapos;t quite stay gone.� He and my mother would get together, get drunk, and fight.�� Iapos;m not saying there was no love between them; there was too much of that, but she came home flushed and excited after a night of brawling, and wore her bruises with a sick pride.� They couldnapos;t keep their hands off of each other, literally.� Eventually, BG had to intervene.� My mother and us kids were sent to live in a safe house, a place where my mother could be rehabilitated, and where Jody and I could learn function, instead of dysfunction.� It was a program my mother�was committed to for �a 3 month stay. (..and I donapos;t mean committed as in she really believed it would do her some good..there was the threat that we would be taken away from her)� The funny part is that this "safe house" was only a couple of streets up from our old apartment, so my father "visited" often.� I would find her, face pressed to the window screen, talking to him as he hid in the bushes.� After a couple of weeks, she decided to make a break for it.� There was a curfew at the house, so the doors and windows would be locked after a certain hour.� I donapos;t know if it was the lure of my father and his promises, or the need for liquor that drew her, but she broke out a window, and we were on the run� Straight back to the old apartment... (I never said she was that smart)� where, of course, the first thing they did was get drunk and beat on each other.� (oh, she liked to participate in the action, too)� This time my father was sent to jail, his first of many visits to the big house, and we were moved to another apartment (you guessed it) just a couple of blocks past the old safe house...(I need to figure out how to draw a map here, so you can get the whole absurdity of these apos;movesapos;, especially in relation to my grandmothersapos; houses).� My mother put up a good front, working at a grocery store during the day, and taking care of us at night, only she never actually came home til after we were asleep...sheapos;d stop in after work, and feed us, but then sheapos;d be off to whatever bar was open.� One night, while she was gone (which is not a foregone conclusion as we could have done this with her in the next room, with her none the wiser..) Jody and I decided to have a barbeque.� We lived on the second floor, and there was a balcony outside our bedroom window, so we pulled one of our twin mattresses out there and lit it on fire..the bedsprings cooked hot dogs as well as any grill would.� But the fire spread (surprisingly..) and soon the whole front of the house was in flames.� Jody and I ran out the back door, and went for a sleepover at BGapos;s. When we got there, we just told her that our mother was out, and that we were scared, so we came to stay with her.� She tucked us into our lawn chair beds (thatapos;s what we slept on when we were over..so comfy) and didnapos;t find out until the next morning what we had really done.� Surprisingly, it was my mother who was punished for leaving us unattended, and my BG who had to pay out a lot of money.� We were, after all, only kids.
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