on protection

you were all so small, when we were small.
and I knew it was coming, way back in Merryville, looked forward to it, even. The Divorce.
But who knew it would bring such wrath, Daddy turning on us like thieves.
Caught with money in our hands, for tuition and school shoes and dresses for graduations, fees for soccer teams and the cost of tampons for new women.
We were targets of grief. We were lives sprouting. And all I could do was take in the anger, shelter the others from it. Get out of the car and walk a mile on the hot Texas highway, spend the night on the cold, wet backyard trampoline.
What to do besides cuddle you in the closet, besides throw you impromptu surprise birthday parties, decorate spartan bedrooms with pink balloons.
And I suppose that the price I pay now is the adult over-achiever with no relationship skills. Striving and loving everything in my path, whiskey all night and love for everyone. Smoker's cough and psychiatrists.
All of the sheltering I performed, the steel umbrella against the rainstorms of disapproval.
"Y'all live like niggers!"
I cleaned and tidied to make it all okay. So many chores, so much nurturing. Always, always.
Both parents with their needs, always giving. Giving all.

And then there was the scrutinizing. Too smart, too emotional, for my own good. My body, a map of parental hopes. So pretty, so smart. A star commanded to shine.

And here I am, that's it. Focussed on success, on pulchritude, on perfection, on others' needs. Left with only my own to fulfill. Here I am, a bit of a drunk, a bit of a star, a bit of a success-in-the-making. I'll make. Just need some nurturing of my own.