I Remember

I remember your laugh, dark and husky.

I remember being afraid when it lasted too long.

I remember you telling me I was just like you, and how much that hurt.

I remember not wanting you to show up at my softball games because of how you would yell at the umpire, but then being sad when you didn't.

I remember hiding under the seats in the back of your car with my sister as you drove drunk across the bridge.

I remember wanting to protect her from you.

I remember the police officer who instead of pulling you over, used his megaphone to say "Hey Fireman, stay in your lane."  All because you had a Fireman license plate.

I remember wondering if he would have pulled you over if he knew two little girls were in the car.

I remember yelling at my Mother that she couldn't let you drive us home anymore.  I remember her picking us up every weekend from then on.

I remember being angrier at her than I was at you.

I remember being angry all of the time.