I helped my anxious mother prepare to walk down the “aisle” (porch) to meet Matt. I watched her get her hair done and even my nails done with her because she wanted to. I pretended everything was fine with me when in reality I was only thinking about the time I had left at home. Two more years, I told myself. I only have two years left and then I can leave and never see this house again. This house filled with terrifying memories. After the wedding, everything became bubbly, happy and fake again. Completely and utterly false. Every time I went back to her house during the four days she hosted us, all I wanted to do was go back to my father in town. I would think about all the things I wanted to do with him when we got back. Maybe we'll go for a ride on our skateboards near the flood wall. Or my friend could come over and we would watch horror movies. I could play with his girlfriend's children, chasing them and tickling them. Just anything other than being at home. I wouldn't have to wait long to stay with my father