The walls he built were thick. None of Joshua’s marching or drumming could break his Jericho walls. Those days I would look up at him with my crystalline eyes. Seeing his distorted figure through the transparent bottle in his hand, I would hear him say, “I love you more than anything, and I want to give you everything.” Words I have heard one million times. Told to me in sequences, like riding a Ferris wheel. Over and over again, sometimes forgotten ever said, and back again. Circling the five words that strengthen the vines around his walls. “I don’t have a problem.” Lies so true he believed himself. Making it hard to tell the good days from the bad, or even if the good days existed at all. Vodka. Juice. Red cup. The usual eight a.m. breakfast routine. Cereal in a box that I brought over myself, for me. Everything I needed came out of my suitcase. Since my time here was temporary, there was no need to provide.

In the car rides, I loved watching through the window as everything went by at light speed, as he drove with one hand on the wheel, and the other on the red cup. Then I never understood why my brother always told me to hold on as we rode in the backseat together. Those were the days I would sit in my room with music vol. 50, the television on, and covers over my head. Still though, through the walls and sliding shut doors, I could hear them as he’d yell, she’d wale, and something fall. Those girls should know better to start anything on his bad days. He taught us well though. When we did not respond quickly enough to the “I love you”s, he pull our hair and grab our shoulder until what he wanted to hear spilled out of our mouths. If you looked in the drawers here, they’d be empty besides the dresses I have five year outgrown.
Then I have grown to hate parades, festivals, and the pizza bar at the corner. Anywhere really when we were asked to leave or have strangers inquiring my safety. Although, the people I would meet at these sable familiar places would rarely ask about my well-being. They were more of the people of hands too low during hugs and sloppy kisses on the check where a hello could have stood. Holidays were the worst of all. “Let’s celebrate! I’ll get you a daiquiri, it will be virgin,” He said. But it tasted like I rode the Ferris wheel with him then.

Maybe one day I would look at him with my crystalline eyes holding my own red cup and feeling little of nothing at all. We could live among each other with the outskirts of our own walls being the only thing we share. Maybe one day I’ll have my own daughter and promise her the world. I hope she would be able to lock her innocence away unlike me who have grown not to know what innocence was. I hope that she will feel loved more than anything and love parades. Maybe one day I will be able to pour out the red cup and pick her up. We would laugh and laugh and do whatever she wanted. Right now though, I watch my world of friends toss balls, spill drinks, and dance on the walls. Right now a boy walks over to me, holding my hands to help me up. One day I hope she isn’t taken too soon.